Third Flower
by SolisLovegood
Summary: Harry Potter's parents were murdered by Voldemort and Harry Potter was left without one living relative . . . wasn't he? Petunia and Lily's youngest sister was only a child herself when Harry was orphaned, but she was sure he was getting her Christmas gifts each year. In October of 1994, Rose Evans accompanies the delegation from Beauxbatons- home- for the Triwizard Tournament.
1. Chapters 1 & 2

Chapter 1: A Flower Garden in Cokeworth

They were his flower garden, Mr. Evans used to say. He would pluck them from the ground, making a popping sound with his pursed lips, and hold them up high until they giggled and kicked their feet. They looked very alike in those days, both slim, big-eyed, and fair, one towheaded and one red-haired girl. There were few enough in the way of gardens in their part of Cokeworth, but the two girls seemed to absorb the sunlight into their faces and smile it back to their tired father when he returned from long day after long day spent in his windowless cubicle.

When they were small, Petunia and Lily were always to be found together. They made castles out of discarded objects found around their neighborhood, and invented intricate fantasy worlds. Petunia, though older, adored her younger sister and followed her directives about what they would imagine next or which characters they would pretend to be. Lily's mind was the generative force in their world. "You are the queen, Tuney," she would intone to her sister, who would feel herself seeming to grow taller as she listened, "and I am a powerful sorceress. We rule this land, with the help of the birds. With our army of fairies we will make the flowers grow throughout this land." When school was not in session, the girls busied themselves with growing gardens, attempting to befriend birds and mice, and planting flower seeds from their mother's supply by the banks of the brown, polluted river. Many people confused their names, for the girls were rarely apart. It was not until the magic they imagined began to creep into reality that the beginnings of a breach appeared between the sisters.

First, the castle which they had built by the banks of the narrow, foul-smelling river remained intact after a violent windstorm damaged nearly every tree and many structures in the town. Branches floated in the river and debris clung to the reeds and bushes, but the castle stood firm. It had been built haphazardly of a pair of tall trash bins, rusted pipes, and newspapers the girls had scavenged from the narrow industrial housing alleyways. By all rights the castle should not have withstood a heavy exhalation. Yet there it stood, waiting for them, while the rest of the town began to clean up from the storm.

Petunia could _almost_ convince herself that this could be merely luck. After all, the neighbor's mailbox had been uprooted completely in the storm, while their own had only been bent at a severe angle against the gate. But the incidents continued. Lily's flower crown bloomed when it touched her head. She could jump impossible distances from the swing. Bushes grew feet higher in seconds when she wished to conceal herself during a game of hide-and-seek. Petunia could not replicate these feats, try as she might, and so her fear and resentment grew as a weed in the garden.

When the odd ragamuffin boy from Spinner's End entered their lives, Lily was eight and Petunia was ten. Lily had been performing her queer tricks for nearly a year, and Petunia was threatening to tell their parents daily. When Severus Snape stumbled out from his hiding place in his ill-fitting clothes and earnest expression and the tear between the sisters became a chasm. Though he was by no means respectable looking, Severus held a glamor in Lily's ripe imagination. He told her better stories than anything her imagination had produced. She was ready to believe him. She had always suspected that there must be more to this wide world than the hard bricks and sharp lanes of their industrial town.

Lily always invited Petunia to "Come with us!" whenever she and Severus met for a ramble by the river, but Petunia declined every time. Petunia could see the relief and satisfaction on Severus' lean face when Petunia refused and he had Lily all to himself. Besides, the one time she tried to join them in the copse near the park, she had narrowly avoided being hit by a falling tree branch. Severus did it on purpose, Petunia was sure. She never doubted his hatred for her, even as Lily insisted that she was exaggerating. "He just doesn't know how to talk to mu- _people_ , Tuney. His father is a bully. Can't you try to-" "No," Petunia would snap at any invitation to befriend Severus. The odd little boy might be stealing her sister from her, but Petunia would not watch it up close.

When Lily was turning ten and Petunia was not yet twelve, something happened which altered the landscape of their childhoods even further. Mrs. Evans had been surprised to discover that she was pregnant again. She was older than Dr. Holibrook preferred his expectant mothers to be, but he had delivered healthy babies from older women. The Evanses, though never very well off, could afford it, and they were overjoyed. The third Evans baby was born in June of 1970. Mr. and Mrs. Evans, rather sentimental about their garden of daughters, named her Rose.

As Rose grew, Petunia determined that this new sister would be her own pet, and would share none of Lily's wild fancies or freakish abilities. And circumstances seemed to promise that Lily would have little to do with Rose's upbringing. Some weeks after Lily's eleventh birthday, while it was still winter in 1971, a strange, stern woman in a tall black hat knocked on the Evans' door, bringing with her a letter and a message that would change everything.

"Your second daughter is a witch, Mr. and Mrs. Evans," the woman who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall had said in her clipped brogue, "and she must be educated if she is to control her magic. There is only one institution in Britain that can teach Lily what she needs to know: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Lily was thrilled, but Petunia cried, hating and envying Lily's magic in equal degrees. She wrote to Professor Dumbledore secretly, and cried more tears over his reply. Slowly, though, the envy wore away and turned to bitterness. Lily was going far away where she and the other mutants, like that horrid boy from Spinner's End, could not disturb normal people. Petunia began to spend a lot more time with Linda and with Susan-next-door, and she gleefully joined in their scathing abuse of that disgusting Spinner's End boy and his absurd clothing. Petunia found that she could make a retreat into normalcy and respectability, the areas in which she could outstrip her sister. Mr. and Mrs. Evans could only watch sadly as their two flowers grew apart.

Petunia could also be smug in the knowledge that Lily would spend very little time with their new sister. Lily was preparing to attend Hogwarts for nine and a half months of the year, for the next seven years. Little Rose would be Petunia's companion, _her_ little doll. Lily could take her freakish tricks and step right out of the family for all Petunia and the baby would care. When Petunia said her final, angry words to Lily on Platform 9 and ¾, she wiped her eyes and picked up her toddling sister. "It's just us now, Rosey. We don't need her, do we?" Rose applied her small, sticky mouth to Petunia's cheek, and Petunia smiled for the first time that day.

Rose resembled both of her sisters equally, green-eyed like their mother, blond like their father, and cheerful. She was neither as passionate as Lily nor as practical as Petunia, but she admired both her sisters equally. Still, Rose was Petunia's pet, and no amount of gifts and letters and moving photographs that owls could carry could counteract the simple fact that Petunia was present for her growing-up years, and Lily was not. Petunia went to high school in Cokeworth, and even the secretarial college she attended was a short drive from town. Petunia changed Rose's nappies, Petunia read her sensible bedtime stories, Petunia helped Rose to form her first wobbly letters and Petunia was there to soothe her tears when Rose lost her first tooth ("Will I lose my baby fingers too, sissy? Will I lose my hair?"). Rose was Petunia's baby, so it was a particularly savage form of heartbreak for Petunia when Rose, too, aged seven and one half, began to do magic.

It began with the mantel clock. Rose was always impatient for her seven o'clock ballet lesson to begin, and one day, after she had asked, "Isn't it time to go yet, Tuney?" for the third time in her precise little voice, Petunia saw the hands on the clock begin to fly. The time, in reality, was half-past five, but as she watched, Petunia saw the minute hand glide smoothly and quickly to the nine, to the twelve, and back down to the six before they slowed to a stop. Rose did not seem to notice what had happened. "Can't we go early, Tuney?" she entreated, with a touch of whine in her voice. Petunia had broken into a cold sweat. This could not be; the clock must simply be broken. But a knot had formed in her stomach that only tightened as the weeks passed and more peculiar things began to happen around Rose. When Rose tore a gaping hole in her favorite skirt, ruffled with a cat on the side, the skirt mended itself as Rose cried over it. Rose's year three teacher reported that the little girl who had been bullying Rose suffered a fall when the swing she had been sitting on mysteriously broke underneath her. Rose had been seething, but across the playground at the time, so Miss Ames did not see how she could have been at fault.

Sometimes Rose's magic benefitted Petunia, such as when Petunia's head cold miraculously disappeared in time for her to attend Rose's piano recital. But none of Rose's magic could make Petunia anything but miserable. The howling despair that she had beaten back after Lily's departure to Hogwarts rose up to engulf her again.

"Why doesn't Tuney love me anymore?" Rose cried to her mother one day when Petunia made yet another excuse for not coming home from college for dinner. "It's not your fault, darling," her mother tried to soothe her. "Petunia just doesn't like magic; it makes her feel left out, that's all. Suppose I invite Lily and James to dinner instead?"

This cheered Rose, who idolized her sister and adored Lily's laughing fiancé. James always treated Rose with exaggerated courtesy, calling her "little mademoiselle" (a jab at Rose's French studies at the independent school she attended), just before he pulled some outrageous prank that made her laugh. The last few times Lily and James had eaten with the Evanses, Rose's cup or her fork or her dessert had flown out of her reach just as she'd start to use them and began to travel in orbits around Rose's head. Rose would always look over to James, who would try to look innocent, but whose wand was always busily moving behind his back or under the table, and she would burst out laughing. Lily took a great interest in Rose's studies and in her piano playing. The family could never afford such things when Lily had been a child, but Lily was proud of her sister's accomplishments. "I'll take you to Hogwarts and show you around when you're ten," she promised. "You are going to have _so_ much fun, Rosey!"

Rose was less assured on this point. From the questions she'd asked her sister and James, Hogwarts seemed deficient in some of her favorite aspects of life. She could not find out that there were any music classes, or art classes, or that anyone at Hogwarts spoke any French at all. Rose excelled at French, and could not imagine an entire school of people who could only speak one language. Also, she did not quite know how she felt about her own magic. Her magic, after all, was the reason that Petunia now avoided her as fervently as she had once loved her.

And, her magic would send her away. Rose longed to travel, but her longings were all for the ballet, for London, for museums, for Paris, and even for New York. She had no desire to go to Scotland, especially if Lily, who had left school, was not going to be there. But Hogwarts was a problem for another year. Rose's head was thoroughly turned with her sister's wedding and her role in it. Petunia's wedding in May had been nothing to it. There had been no bridesmaids, and no party. Petunia had worn a white dress, yes, but there had been nothing for Rose to do, and Vernon had not so much as looked at her. But for Lily's wedding, Rose would wear the smallest of the green smocked bridesmaids' dresses, and James' handsome friend Padfoot had promised to dance with the "little mademoiselle." Petunia's sudden coldness and withdrawal from her life still caused Rose many bewildered tears, but there was a great deal of light in that summer of 1979. Sirius Black was very funny, and was a very good dancer after all.

The weddings, as they so often are, were soon followed by more happy news: both Petunia and Lily were expecting babies that summer. Petunia felt sure Lily was only trying to upstage her in yet another area of her life, and she refused to acknowledge either her sister's marriage or her pregnancy. But the Evanses happily prepared to dote on both of their grandchildren, until Lily's phone call in February of 1980 turned everything upside-down once again.

Mr. Evans, who had gone along with magic and with witchcraft and with Hogwarts, and had taken great pride in his daughters' abilities, drew the line at prophecies. "No one can predict the future, Lily. Life is what you make of it. Our choices are what make our fate, Lil, not anyone else's say-so." Lily had sighed, sorrowfully. "Unfortunately, Dad, dark wizards can make choices, too," she replied. They were going into hiding, as the headmaster of Hogwarts seemed to think necessary, in response to a prophecy about Lily's baby. Rose grew more and more uneasy about the world of magic which she was to inhabit in just over a year's time. It seemed a dangerous place, full of powerful people who quarreled with one another over mysterious circumstances.

And then tragedy struck in May, not in the magical world, but on the A34 northbound outside of Birmingham, where the Evanses had been visiting their old college friends. The weather had been quite severe. Driving had been hard going already when an inexperienced driver had turned into the wrong lane of traffic. Mr. Evans had swerved, lost control, and collided with a truck going the opposite direction. It was over in minutes. Rose was at Lily's house in Godric's Hollow when Petunia called.

Lily had had the phone line put in for her parents' use; Petunia didn't call Lily, and Lily had learned not to call Petunia. But Petunia did call that once, for the first and last time. "Mum and Dad are dead, Lily. The police said it was a terrible wreck. They didn't know how to find _you,_ of course. Of course I had to be the one, in my state and all. My baby's due in six weeks; I'm surprised the shock didn't kill me, I'm surprised I didn't go into labor at once. Vernon's making the arrangements. Tell your lie-about husband not to bother. We don't need his lot interfering."

It was with difficulty that Lily convinced Petunia to give the details of the funeral arrangements. The funeral was on a Friday, before the bank holiday at the end of May. A Ministry security team accompanied the Potters to the church at Albus Dumbledore's request. Petunia gave Rose a terse hug when Rose stretched out her arms; Lily, she ignored. James, fresh from burying his own elderly parents, wept openly. And then it was over, and the sun shone in the car park of the churchyard, and the three Evans girls had to learn to live without their parents.

There was no question of Rose living with Petunia; Petunia made her unwillingness to live anywhere near witches quite clear to them both at the funeral. James gave Lily one look after Vernon's car accelerated out of the car park, and said simply, "Rose is coming to live with us." At James' insistence, they gave the security wizards who had accompanied them to the funeral the slip and apparated into the Evans' back garden. They packed what they could of Rose's belongings into Lily's charmed handbag. Then, holding onto his wife's and his sister-in-law's hands, James turned on the spot. Rose's last view of Cokeworth was the struggling flower garden that lined the brick patio, and her mother's foxgloves which had yet to bloom that year. When she opened her eyes, she was blinking back tears and looking at the little cottage in Godric's Hollow, where an exasperated Ministry security wizard had been pacing for the past hour.

Chapter Two: A Smaller Garden in the West Country

Rose settled into her life at Godric's Hollow much more smoothly than she had expected. She'd been staying with her sister and James for nearly two weeks when Petunia had made her first and last telephone call, and the transition from visiting to living in the snug cottage was quite comfortable. James put an (illegal, as Lily huffed at him) extension charm on several of the rooms, including the den where Rose had been sleeping. With the help of the Order of the Phoenix, matters were arranged (and a few Muggles confunded) so Rose could attend year six at the the village primary school and, at Lily's insistence, take ballet on Wednesday evenings.

Godric's Hollow Village Primary School, Key Stage Two did not offer French language instruction, to Rose's disappointment. However, Rose continued to write to the French pen friend she'd been assigned in Cokeworth, and she devoured all books she could find that contained the French language or culture. Rose's childhood dream of going to Paris (which had offered such a delicious contrast to the scenes around her in Cokeworth) still occupied a secret but precious place in her heart. Though Lily and James' magic was very impressive, and though she did want to learn to conjure and transfigure and charm all the ways that Lily described, it seemed a hard fate that she should have to give up her favorite dreams simply because she was capable of performing magic.

As week succeeded week and Lily's pregnancy neared its conclusion, however, Rose found that she could be happy with her affectionate, though less familiar, sister. James continued to tease Rose and enchant objects which she was just about to use to elude her grasp, or place themselves upon her head, or transform into dormice. But he always seemed to know how far it was safe to go with these capers, and when Rose was not in the mood to be teased. He felt sorry for his wife's baby sister, and often invited his strangely named friends to tea with the idea of cheering her up as much as himself and Lily. Rose grew used to calling them by their odd nicknames, though she had to have it explained to her that their Christian names were not actually Moony, Padfoot, and Wormy. In short, it was a warm, affectionate, and merry little home into which she had come, and Rose felt that, all things considered, she had landed on her feet.

On a blazingly hot Thursday at the very end of July, Lily woke up feeling rather peculiar. She picked at the eggs and bacon James had prepared, tapped her swollen foot, and was generally and uncharacteristically agitated. When James repeated his joke about the ice in her water being an old family recipe three times and she neither laughed nor grimaced nor acknowledged that he had spoken, James looked at Lily more closely. Her lips were pursed and she was breathing in a deep, deliberate way, as if trying to calm herself. James began to wonder if today might be an important day for them all.

It was. Within three hours, Lily's discomfort had grown to the point where she asked for the healer to be brought from St. Mungo's. Rose was very proud to be allowed to help with such an important event. She brought towels, she brought ice water, she brought potion ingredients from Lily's private store, and she even assisted the healer to make a pain potion ( _I can do this! Perhaps I really can go to magic school!_ she had thought at she stirred the pearly concoction in the Healer's mini-cauldron). When the crucial moment arrived, however, Rose was hiding in her room, quite overcome. James had to come to fetch her to see her new nephew. He was beaming, and Lily was beaming, but Rose's eyes were the size of saucers as they placed Harry in her arms for the first time.

Babies! Rose had never had anything to do with them before, excepting the Year Two school friend whose mother had brought her baby brother to school every day in his pram. But she had never been close to a baby before, having been accustomed to being the baby herself. Her heart seemed to expand the moment she met tiny Harry James. Rose felt a surge of affection and protectiveness for the baby, who felt more like a brother than a nephew. Lily and James were soon given another reason to be very glad that they had taken her in, for Rose was devoted to baby Harry and was always willing to help with him in any way she was allowed. James and Lily had more time to themselves than the parents of new babies often have, for many days ended with Rose tenderly rocking "her baby" to sleep and singing him the French nursery songs she had learned.

Lily and James themselves rarely left the house. The Fidelius charm protected them only so long as they stayed within the walls of their little house. It was not known how much Voldemort knew about Lily's family, but the Order of the Phoenix had come up with a way for Rose to attend her school without giving away the whereabouts of the Potter's house. Each morning, Rose would throw the prickly green "floo" powder into the parlor fireplace and arrive at the home of the oldest lady Rose had ever seen. "Auntie Bathilda," as the lady had asked to be called, would walk Rose down the lane to the crosswalk, where a very short walk brought her to Godric's Hollow Village Primary School. Every afternoon she repeated the process in reverse.

To most children in Godric's Hollow, she was Weird Old Lady Bagshot's grandniece, and Rose was instructed not to undeceive anyone. Ballet lessons were more complicated to arrange, as Bathilda Bagshot's home was several blocks from the studio, and Bathilda was getting a bit frail for long walks. But this gave James a prized opportunity to make use of his invisibility cloak and step out into the town. James was her biggest fan and supporter at ballet. Whenever he took a break from bragging over Harry's latest accomplishment of infancy, James switched to the subject of his sister-in-law: "You should see it, Moony! Rosey can jump about twenty feet through the air!" he would exaggerate, "and she can spin like a top and stop on a dime! I swear she's going to apparate by accident one of these times and I'll have to obliviate her whole class!"

Rose often guiltily acknowledged to herself that she was happier with Lily and James than she had been with her parents in Cokeworth. And this happiness only promised to grow after Professor Minerva McGonagall, as she introduced herself, made them a visit one April evening in 1981. "I have come to present an idea, a possibility, to you about Rose's education," she said, looking at them gravely over the tea things.

"I shall come to the point straight away: many of us are concerned that a sister of Lily Potter may not be safe at Hogwarts. I do not think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself could enter the castle," she explained, with a small and proud smile, "not as long as Albus Dumbledore remains headmaster. They say he is the only wizard You-Know-Who ever feared. Still, there are other ways for the Death Eaters to target Rose. They could attack her while she is in transit, they could attempt to place someone under the Imperius curse, they could attempt to have her kidnapped, and there are, besides, many students who express support for You-Know-Who and who might try to do her harm when students learn who she is. You-Know-Who may well order her kidnapping in an attempt to lure you out of hiding, Lily, or to learn your location from her in some . . . way," she finished. Rose swallowed.

"Now, there are several options," Professor McGonagall said in a placating tone as Lily placed her arm around Rose and squeezed. "You can attempt to educate Rose in private, here at your home, while we wait for this threat on your family to subside. Rose could attempt to attend Hogwarts under an assumed identity, in hopes that the Death Eaters will not learn that she has any connection to the Potter family. Or," and here the stern Scottish lady hesitated, "Rose might attend another wizarding school."

"Beauxbatons!" Rose cried, and then blushed. "Excuse me, Professor. Only, I've always wanted to go to France. Lily told me that Beauxbatons is a wizarding school in France. Is it a _good_ school?" she asked, with an earnestness that Professor McGonagall found touching. She smiled as she answered,

"Beauxbatons is an extremely respected school with a very long and dignified magical history. Most of the students are native French speakers, however. Do you speak French?"

"I do!" Rose blurted. "That is, I speak it pretty well. I have studied French since Reception in Primary School. I want to learn to speak it better."

"You do not have to make this decision today," Professor McGonagall responded gently. "But if you choose to attend Beauxbatons, you will have the full cooperation of the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic in getting you there safely. I will leave with you a letter from Albus Dumbledore detailing the options for Rose's education, and these informational pamphlets about other wizarding schools in Europe. Please do not hesitate to send me an owl with any questions." And within a few minutes of finishing her tea, Lily was escorting Professor McGonagall to the apparition point at the edge of their property and returning, lost in thought, to be embraced by her sister.

"Lily! Oh Lily, I could go to France!" Rose was breathless, and more excited than Lily could remember seeing her. "I could still learn to do magic and go to _France_! Oh, please, Lily, can I go to Beauxbatons? I can still come back to Godric's Hollow on holidays, oh, can't I Lily _please_?"

Within a few days, it was settled. Professor McGonagall corresponded with Lily and James to arrange for Rose's transport to and from school, and certain members of the Order of the Phoenix planned to accompany her to Diagon Alley to purchase her supplies in August. Rose could not have imagined, when faced with the prospect of leaving Cokeworth upon the death of her parents, that so many things could happen to make her so happy. Life seemed to open to her, wider and wider, and the threat of Voldemort and the prophecy seemed like a mere abstraction as Rose lived between the end of year six and the beginning of her magical education.

Harry continued to grow and crawl and reach for toys and spit mashed peas into his parents' faces. Two weeks before his first birthday, he took his first unsteady steps into James' arms. James crowed, and sent a dozen celebratory puffs of pink smoke from his wand for the occasion. Rose clapped her hands and laughed, and then burst into tears. It had just occurred to her that she would be at Beauxbatons for months at a time, and would find Harry transformed when she returned for the Christmas holidays.

"What if he forgets me?" she sobbed into Lily's arms as Harry stared at her in bewilderment.

"He won't! He won't, Rosie, don't worry," Lily soothed her. "Did you forget _me_ when I was at Hogwarts?"

"I don't know! When I was a b-baby I don't remember, m-maybe I did!" Rose cried. She scooped Harry out of James' arms and looked into his eyes, which were the same green as her own and Lily's. "Don't forget me, Harry! I'll bring you a present from France!" Harry gripped Rose's finger with a sticky hand.

"Is there a gift shop at Beauxbatons, then?" James teased. "Or will you be taking a shopping trip to Paris on your own, aged eleven?"

"I know what we can do!" Lily declared, ignoring James. "We'll take more pictures of you. I'll borrow Mooney's camera, and we'll develop them here. I've still got the ingredients in my school trunk, I think. We can put pictures of you in Harry's room, and I'll remind him who you are. How about that, Rose?"

Lily's solution cheered Rose considerably. Remus' camera was soon clicking busily in the house at Godric's Hollow. Soon the house was littered with moving prints: Harry in Rose's arms; family portraits of James, Lily, and Harry on the sofa, pictures of Harry toddling after Fat Lady, Lily's tabby cat; Lily and Rose, laughing in the kitchen; James playing with a snitch while Harry laughed and Fat Lady watched, longingly. After Harry's birthday tea, these prints were joined by several shots of Harry with Auntie Bathilda and of Harry's escapades on the tiny broom Sirius had sent him. Harry soon had a small gallery in his room, and Rose put several of her favorites in a stack on her nightstand.

When Sirius arrived on the first of August, a day which Rose had been fervently anticipating for weeks, he was so impressed with the photo project that he asked to keep several for himself. After placing them carefully inside a book which he was borrowing from James, Sirius looked up at Lily and James. "Do you agree, then?" he asked quietly. "Switching to Wormy will be safer, I am sure."

"I don't like it, mate," James grimaced. "But you're probably right."

"I'm always right," Sirius rejoined. "I was best man, I'm godfather; they'll expect it to be me."

"What? What is Wormtail going to do?" Rose asked, sensing this to be an adult subject, and yet making an effort all the same. "Why can't you do it, Paddy?"

"Never you mind," said Lily briskly. "You'll keep her safe, Padfoot? This isn't a joke, you know. They may know who she is, especially if she's with you."

"I'll keep my eyes on the road, Lily, don't fuss."

"I know you're not bringing her on that motorbike of yours . . ?" Lily raised an eyebrow at him in challenge.

Sirius raised his hands to show his innocence. "It didn't occur to me, Lily. Little Mademoiselle would get airsick and ruin the upholstery. Are you ready then, Mademoiselle?" he turned to Rose with a raised eyebrow and a roguish expression, as if they were preparing to do something much more mischievous than merely buying school supplies in Diagon Alley. Rose's heart skipped a beat as she met his eyes, though whether it was from his expression or from the excitement of her first venture into the wizarding world, she wasn't certain. Nevertheless, her "Je suis prêt!" was confident, and she smiled as she took Sirius' arm.

Sirius' French was almost as good as Rose's. "Très bien! Allons-y!" and arm in arm with Rose, he swept down to the apparition point at the edge of the yard.

The afternoon in Diagon Alley ranked as one of a handful of Rose's favorite afternoons of her short life. Previously, all of Rose's exposure to wizards and the world of magic had been limited to what she witnessed at Godric's Hollow, inside small residences. Never did she imagine that wizarding life could exist on such a scale. Her eyes lit up at the moving displays in shop windows, the drape and flair of robes on fashionable witches, and the very real goblins who could be seen before the searing whiteness of Gringott's Bank.

Sirius had Lily and James' vault key in his breast pocket, and he withdrew it with a wink at Rose's open-mouthed expression. They withdrew a sizable amount of gold from the vault ("We've got a large haul to buy today, after all. I do love shopping, Mademoiselle!") and proceeded to spend it freely at shop after fascinating shop. Lily had thought ahead and had sent owls to a few shops months before, so that Flourish and Blotts had Rose's required textbooks ready for her at the front desk, with _Magie du Débutant_ at the top of the twine-bound stack. Madam Malkin's had special ordered Rose's Beauxbatons Robes, so they needed only to have them fitted. Sirius patiently paged through the copy of _The Daily Prophet_ he had brought with them, while Madam Malkin's tape measure flew around Rose's frame to measure her height, the circumference of her waist, and her shoulders, so that the cape on Rose's delicate blue robes would fit. Soon, Rose's three required sets of school robes were wrapped in smooth paper, paid for, and added to the stack of parcels they had accumulated so far.

Rose knit her brow at the towering pile; by her reckoning, they would soon be unable to walk comfortably, and there were two more stops to make before they reached the end of their list. "How will we get to Eeyelop's and Ollivander's, Padfoot? Won't we have to leave the parcels somewhere?"

"Nah, we can't risk that. I've got it-" and with a flick of his wand, Sirius caused all the parcels to rise up into the air and bob gently, still stacked as they had been on the cobblestone.

"Oh, Padfoot! Will I be able to do that soon?" Rose asked in delight.

"I expect that spell's in your _Magie du Débutant._ I learned it first year. But I didn't learn how to do _this-_ " expertly directing the packages to move along with them as they crossed the street to Eeyelop's Owl Emporium, "until third year. It's handy! But you'll amaze us all when you get home at Christmas, Mademoiselle."

Rose had brought enough money to buy an owl of her own, and she chose a female barn owl. " _Une chouette effraie_ ," she translated proudly to Sirius. "I'll call her _Lis_ , for Lily."

"She looks like Lily. Tell her I said that," Sirius chuckled. "Let's get into Ollivander's quick; we're meeting Wormy for dinner at The Cauldron in an hour." He caused the packages to precede them to the door of Ollivander's shop, where they hovered outside the window while Rose led them in. It took a moment for Rose's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the shop. When they did, she was unsettled to find Mr. Ollivander himself looking at her gravely from behind the counter. He gave a smile that did not quite reach his watery eyes.

"Off to Hogwarts, are you?" he asked. Rose hesitated, but decided it would not hurt to deceive him. After all, Lily had said, the fewer people who knew who she was, the better. She nodded.

"Well, let's give this one a try." Mr. Ollivander held out a long, graceful looking wand of a dark wood. "Give it a swish, eh?" Rose did. A gust of wind blew the old wandmaker's hair straight back from his face, but he did not seem satisfied. Without speaking, he took the dark wand from her and replaced it with another, reddish one. When Rose waved this, the lights flickered, but nothing else happened and Mr. Ollivander quickly had it out of her hand.

Rose tried five more wands before she found one that, when she waved it, produced a burst of tiny silver fireworks that exploded with a dozen metallic _pop!_ sounds. Mr. Ollivander nodded with a satisfied expression. "Cedar and unicorn hair. Ten inches. You're made of sterner stuff than you look, young lady. I wouldn't cross her, Mr. Black!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Sirius said sincerely. He shook Mr. Ollivander's hand, and soon he and Rose, Lis and Peter Pettigrew were enjoying hearty sandwiches and chips as their packages bobbed outside The Leaky Cauldron's window. Rose wished they had some reason to stay longer in Diagon Alley, for she had never been in a place that she found more exhilarating. She enthused over their purchases, and Sirius teased her and praised her. Peter, usually so chatty, was uncharacteristically silent that day, a fact that Rose would long remember.

Rose was happy, if a bit uneasy, as the weeks brought her closer to Beauxbatons. Lily helped her to slowly fill her trunk with the clothes, spellbooks, supplies, and mementos which would be all that she would have of her own belongings until Christmas. Harry delighted her by beginning to say, "Ohs. Ohs!" in a manner that clearly referred to her name. Auntie Bathilda came for tea and to impart words of wisdom which Rose instantly forgot. Rose was unable to attend her last ballet class, because James was not able to take her.

"Professor Dumbledore asked to borrow my invisibility cloak, Rosey, I'm sorry!" he raked his hands through his wild black hair. "I wasn't thinking when I said yes. I should have asked if he could wait another week!"

Rose assured him that she was not distressed. "Besides, you could not have said no to Professor Dumbledore! He is so important, so famous, So-"

"Mad." James nodded. "No, you're right, but I am sorry to make you miss it. You can have lessons over next summer holiday, how's that?"

Rose, who couldn't think beyond the day of departure to Beauxbatons, agreed. The August weeks had seemed to fly by, but by contrast, the last few days before she left positively crawled. Rose spent a lot of time on the parlor floor with Harry, reading him _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and singing his favorite nursery rhymes. On the morning of August 30, Rose awoke and put the final objects into her trunk: her album of still muggle photographs of her parents and Petunia, and her collection of moving photographs of Lily, James, Harry, and herself. "Don't forget me!" Rose implored Harry again as he grabbed handfuls of her curls. James hugged her, but Lily's embrace was crushing and both sisters had tears in their eyes when they released one another and Lily put her hands on Rose's shoulders. "Don't let anyone at that school intimidate you. You're as smart and as capable as any of them. Make us proud, Rosey. I love you."

"I love you Lil. Write me?"

"Every week." Lily smiled through her tears.

Rose couldn't think of anything else to say, so she nodded, gulped back her tears, and stepped into the fireplace. James had already taken her trunk and Lis's cage to Madam Bagshot's, so that Rose only gripped her wand and her small handbag as she arrived, spinning and sooty, in Bathilda Bagshot's parlor. Rose was surprised to be confronted with the figure of a tall and very old wizard with a long, snowy beard, wearing dashing midnight-blue robes. He smiled kindly as he performed a very elegant, if very slight, bow.

"Good morning, Miss Evans! If I may presume to introduce myself: my name is Professor Dumbledore, though I will not have the pleasure of being your professor this year. I know that you are surprised to see me. You were expecting Professor McGonagall, were you not?"

Rose nodded mutely, but a glance at Auntie Bagshot's smiling, wrinkled face gave her some assurance.

"Professor McGonagall is making arrangements for the start of term, and we find that the castle cannot spare her just now. The headmaster, by contrast, may think himself important, but he is always less necessary than his staff would like him to believe. I do have a good relationship with the school thestrals, however, and am at your service today to conduct you to France. Madame Maxime, who as I'm sure you know is the headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy, is a dear old friend of mine. I should be delighted to have a cup of tea with her again. She serves a white ambrosia tea that is really most exquisite! Are you ready to depart?"

"I suppose I am. Is my trunk here, and my owl?" Rose tried to hide her nervousness, following as Professor Dumbledore strode out of Auntie Bathilda's house into her back garden.

"They are both in the carriage."

" _Carriage?_ I'm going to France by _carriage?_ How-?" But she did not need to finish her sentence. A silver carriage was indeed standing there, impossibly contained within Bathilda's garden walls. Rose wondered if the garden walls had been magically expanded, just as her own bedroom at Godric's Hollow had been. She did not have time to wonder any further in this direction, however, as she was too taken by the sight of the winged, skeletal, horse-like creatures that were harnessed to the carriage. Rose spun around, her mouth open.

"Professor Dumbledore, are we going to _fly_ to France?"

"We are indeed! I do love a refreshing carriage flight on a Sunday morning," Dumbledore replied cheerfully.

Rose was torn between exhilaration and fear. Before she screwed herself up to step into the carriage, as he was plainly waiting for her to do, Rose forced herself to ask the question that was twisting around in her stomach. "Professor McGonagall seemed to think someone might try to attack me or kidnap me on my way to Hogwarts. How do we know…" her voice dropped away; she didn't want to seem less than confident in this twinkling and elegant man.

"How do we know that we won't be attacked in the air?" Dumbledore smiled warmly. "I do not think you need to fear that today."

"Why not, sir?" Rose asked hesitantly.

"Because, Miss Evans," he replied seriously, "You are with me."


	2. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Transplanted

 _ **A.N. Most of the dialogue in this chapter is in French; certainly everything spoken after the departure of Dumbledore from Beauxbatons is said in French. However, I have kept most of it in English, for the benefit of my readers.**_

 _ **A.N. Many thanks to my French-speaking reader for her tips! I'm very much obliged!**_

When she looked back on her journey over the Channel by flying carriage, Rose remembered three predominant things: the brightness of the light as they flew over cloud cover, the way her stomach clenched when they lost altitude for any reason, and the extreme pleasantness of Albus Dumbledore's company. Rose surprised herself by telling him all about growing up in Cokeworth, her love for French and for art, her parents, her sisters. Rose described Petunia's devotion to her with wistfulness that she couldn't quite hide. Dumbledore deftly handed her a handkerchief at just the right moment, when her throat had seized up and her eyes filled, and for several long minutes he pretended to find the view out of the carriage window absolutely fascinating. To cheer herself up, Rose brought up the subject of Harry.

"He's so clever, Professor! And he's so funny and so lovely. He's just learned to say my name! He'll… he'll be missing me tonight, I always sing to him. I give Lily and James breaks. Who will do that now? Not Paddy.

"Professor McGonagall said Lily could teach me at home. When she said that, I felt a bit wild. I wanted to get out of the house, I wanted to travel, I wanted to speak French and see things I'd never seen before. But now... I don't know if that was right. Maybe I'd better have stayed. They need me, Professor! Lily hasn't got a family, nor has James, nor do I. Petunia won't talk to her or to me either. Perhaps I'll go home after a year… I only needed to see a bit of the world, really. I can come home next year."

Professor Dumbledore had been regarding her thoughtfully for some time, but now he leaned forward and gazed directly into her face. "Miss Evans, no one can doubt your love for your family. You have shown them every consideration and every affection. Not every heart could respond to grief and loss with so much love." He smiled with such warmth that her eyes filled again. Dumbledore cleared his throat before continuing.

"But forgive me Miss Evans, you must now think of yourself. A magical education is a great gift, one you will need in the years ahead. You have been a daughter and a sister and an aunt and a friend, and now it is time to be Rose Evans, and to discover what that means." He sat back in his chair. "I have known this conflict myself, and I know that I may not be able to convince you that your family's well-being is not solely your responsibility. But perhaps you can consider that the best thing you can do for your family is to learn to be the most skilled witch you can be. And that you cannot do without a complete education."

Rose was transfixed; he seemed to have found the very center of what was bothering her and spoke to it directly. "Thank you, Professor. I will. I will learn about _everything_ at Beauxbatons. I'll make Lily proud. I- I only hope I'll be good enough."

"I have no doubt that you will, Miss Evans. Ah, I begin to see the Pyrenees! Do look at how the sun strikes them at this time of the afternoon. It is poetry."

Rose had suspected that Beauxbatons would be beautiful, but the reality of it robbed her of breath. Tall white, blue-roofed turrets spread out like the bulbs of a candelabra among the white-tipped mountains and the smooth, spreading green park. Within the castle walls were geometric gardens, sparkling fountains and networks of walking paths that led to picturesque outbuildings. Her heart leapt that first time she saw it, but it frequently gave a throb at the beauty of the grounds even after she had lived there for years.

Beauxbatons Castle was _nothing_ like anything she had known in England, and yet it did not feel foreign or strange. Rose felt herself responding to each flower, each statue, and to the two or three elegantly dressed men who bowed (actually _bowed_!) to her as she entered the castle. Professor Dumbledore paused to send something silver bounding from the tip of his wand and up the stairs, and then led her to a high ceilinged room that sparkled with pearlescent chandeliers. They had only begun to take a turn around the enormous room when they turned at the sound of a voice.

"Albus! How _charmant_ to see you." Rose beheld the largest woman she had ever seen, elegant in black silk robes and pearl earrings that quivered as she strode toward them.

"My dear Madame Maxime! It is always a very great pleasure." He bent over her proffered hand and kissed it. "May I present Miss Rose Evans?" he turned to Rose and beckoned her forward.

" _Mademoiselle, vous êtes les bienvenus à Beauxbatons. Je suis sûre que nous pouvons espérer de grandes choses de votre part."_ Madame Maxime spoke slowly, and waited for a response with her head tilted to one side, as if Rose's response was of great importance.

Rose tried to smile as she answered. _"Merci madame. Je vais essayer d'être digne."_

Madame Maxime's smile split her enormous face, and she embraced Rose, but gently, as if wary of crushing her. Then she called, "Mademoiselle Durand, _venez ici._ " Madame Maxime charged the blue-robed girl who responded to this summons with giving Rose a short tour of the castle. Rose just caught a glimpse of Professor Dumbledore and Madame Maxime drawing together conspiratorially before the girl led her away at a pace which she found it hard to match. Rose was shown the girls and boys dormitories, the principal washrooms, a few of the nearer classrooms, and the bright, high-ceilinged library before they returned, Rose trailing and a little out of breath.

Trailing and a little out of breath was the way she seemed to spend the next several days, in fact. Professor Dumbledore bid her a cordial farewell after only a half-hour's conversation with Madame Maxime, and Rose was swept into the inflexible routines of the ponderous institution of _Beauxbatons Académie de Magie_. The classes were all that her heart had desired. She was able to satiate her curiosity and try her skills and make beautiful things. Rose enjoyed the simple sensation of doing magic; even the feel of her cedar, carved wand in her hand was a pleasure. Befriending her classmates, however, was another matter.

Rose found the limits of her French abilities very quickly, for while she nearly always understood her teachers in the classrooms, she found that her classmates' jokes, expressions, and references often went beyond her understanding. The easiest people to be around, besides teachers, were the other international students. Students who spoke Spanish, Dutch, or Arabic as their first language struggled to make jokes and make friends in their second language, too. Rose found her Senegalese classmate Astou, who sat beside her in _Enchantements_ class, also became her friend who sat beside her at meals. They frequently made room for Miguel and Lucas, who, though French was also a second language for them, found ways to reduce everyone around them to hopeless laughter anyway. While her alienation remained as she navigated the halls of Beauxbatons, these friends of Rose's made it a comfortable garment she could wear lightly.

As the days became weeks, Rose found herself to be quietly, and increasingly, happy. True to her word, Lily wrote weekly letters. Most of of these responded to what Rose had written about her progress at school. _We're a boring set here in Godric's Hollow_ , she wrote in one early letter, _mostly we fuss over Harry and try to convince people to visit us._ Her letters did contain many anecdotes about Harry, which both assuaged and intensified Rose's homesickness. _We've taught Harry a new trick!_ Lily wrote once. _We say, "What does Padfoot say?" And he barks! Paddy nearly split his gut laughing. He's trying to teach Harry to howl when we ask about Mooney now._ Rose's heart ached to think of all that she was missing, but she would unfailingly be drawn back into some homework or one of Miguel's animated jokes before she could settle into any unhappiness. Beauxbatons was all that she dreamed.

One day, in early November, Rose went to the Owlery, which they called the _Volière,_ to collect and send her mail as usual. It was a particularly clear and fine morning. The _Volière_ had high ceilings and high, narrow windows which were like fingers of blue. Despite the presence of so many fluttering, hooting, and whistling owls, the atmosphere was one of profound serenity. Rose often lingered there longer than necessary, enjoying the peace. On this morning she dispatched her letter to Lily, containing a sketch of her favorite fountain and a description of her favorite teacher, Professeur Pelletier, who taught _Enchantements_. Rose gazed at Lis as she disappeared into the distance, feeling in a pleasant sort of haze. She then turned her eyes to the inside of the tower, gazing at the stark whiteness of the walls, contrasting pleasantly with the sharp blue of the sky through the windows. Rose sighed in deep contentment. And then, she heard a noise behind her.

It was a tiny clearing throat, and Rose turned to see one of the school's house elves bowing respectfully. " _S'il vous plaît_ , Miss Evans, Madame Maxime has requested that you join her in her office."

Rose was surprised, and not a little bit nervous. What could she have done without having known she was doing it? What French rule had she broken?

The little elf looked at her kindly. "Please Miss, I am sure you have done nothing. It is only that Madame has received a letter from Albus Dumbledore in Scotland. She needs to speak with you about what the letter said." Rose was only a little reassured by this clarification. Her heart pounded as she followed the small figure to Madame Maxime's elegant, velvet-covered office, wondering what a letter from Professor Dumbledore could mean for her. She was a little out of breath when she entered and saw Madame Maxime rise abruptly at her entrance.

"Sit down, sit down Miss Evans. Thank you, Coco, you may go." The house elf bowed and scurried away, and Madame Maxime looked at Rose and then closed her eyes. Rose sat down on one of the regular-sized chairs, while her headmistress resumed her seat in her enormous one. She cleared her throat once, and then began to speak, looking at Rose steadily but with glistening eyes.

"Oh, Miss Evans, what can I say, how can I begin? I will be straightforward. You must know that- that- _Celui dont on ne doit pas prononcer le nom_ \- that, _he_ has been trying to attack your sister's child for many months now, more than a year. It is for this reason that you were offered a place at Beauxbatons, so that you, and they, would be safe. I deeply regret to tell you that at last… _he_ has succeeded. Just a few days ago, Professor Dumbledore writes to say, he entered your sister's home and murdered both her and her husband. The baby, the child survives. No one knows how. We still don't know how he was able to enter your sister's house; the house was protected by the _Fidelius_ enchantment, and- oh, my dear, I am so sorry!"

For Rose had suddenly leaned forward and gripped her knees as if trying to keep herself from sliding out of her chair. She wanted desperately to unhear what she had heard. Surely it couldn't be true, Lily had just written her… but as she searched her brain she realized that Lily usually wrote her on Sundays, and the letters would usually have arrived by Wednesday, and today was Saturday. There had been no letter this week.

"Madame-" Rose had to try, to just prod at reality to see if it would give way. "Madame, their bodies have been found? It is certain, and it is definitely… _him_?"

The headmistress nodded gently. "It is so."

Rose sat unmoving. Cold seemed to spread from her stomach to her limbs. She had a sudden thought: _Harry_. "Madame, what has been done with the child, my nephew? I must go to him! He is alone!"

"He is with your elder sister, Miss Evans. Professor Dumbledore assures me that he is safe, and says that for you, it is safest to stay where you are."

"Paddy! Harry should go to Paddy, not to my sister. My sister… she won't understand him. Where is Sirius Black, Madame?"

"I- I am afraid I do not know this man, Miss Evans. Professor Dumbledore has sent a letter for you, however. He placed it inside my letter, he says, so that I could speak with you first." Madame Maxime stood and picked up a fat, square envelope. She took two of her enormous strides to arrive in front of Rose's chair and handed her the letter. She then looked down at her small pupil and placed a large and gentle hand on her shoulder. After an effort, Rose lifted her face and looked into her headmistress' large and compassionate face.

"This will be a hard blow to you, my poor dear. I am so sorry. But your nephew is safe, and the most important news is this: it seems that when _Celui dont on ne doit pas prononcer le nom_ tried to murder the child, something happened which caused his spell to fail. He is destroyed. Your little nephew has destroyed him. That is something to be proud of, yes? He has a mighty magic in his blood for one so young! The war, the fear in England, it is all over. All English wizards celebrate little Harry now. They are calling him _Le garçon qui a survécu_ , The Boy who Lived. Fancy that, now!

"Here now, read your letter from Professor Dumbledore. He has instructed me to tell you that you may write him about anything you like, and he will respond. I grant you freedom of the castle for the next week, Rose. The staff will all be told; you may stay in your room, you may walk along the grounds whenever you wish. Coco will make sure that you have food brought to your room. You do not need to take your meals in the Hall. In one week, I shall meet with you again and we will discuss how you will resume your studies… and where." Madame Maxime broke with her usual formality and bent down to brush Rose's head with her lips, which were as big as breakfast croissants. "My heart grieves for you, my dear."

Rose staggered back to her room feeling as though there were no sound in the world. When she reached her empty dormitory (the other students were expected to be at breakfast by that hour), she sat on her bed and stared out the window for several minutes before she remembered the letter. Eagerly, she opened the envelope. Somehow it was in her mind that Professor Dumbledore's letter would make it all untrue, that somehow his words would contain an extenuation that would make this horrible cold in her stomach disappear. She began to read.

 _My very dear Miss Evans,_

 _By this time you have, I hope, heard from Madame Maxime the essentials of what I am about to relate to you. The Fidelius Charm on your sister's house was broken, and Voldemort was able to enter on the night of October 31st. While there, he murdered James and Lily, and he tried, but failed, to murder Harry. I have seen James and Lily's bodies with my own eyes, and I can attest that it was the killing curse which killed them. You will be glad to know that Harry is unharmed, but for a small, rather oddly shaped scar on his forehead. It resembles a lightning bolt._

 _Harry has been safely conveyed to the house of your sister, Petunia, and her husband and son. I knew that you, Miss Evans, would be quick to say that you will care for Harry, but it cannot be. You are not yet of age, and you simply cannot take upon yourself that kind of responsibility while you have your education to obtain. Please do not repeat what I have written here to anyone; it would not be well for more people to know what is protecting Harry than is absolutely necessary._

 _I have concluded that it was your sister's love, her sacrifice, to die so that Harry might live, that has saved him. On the day following your sister's and James' murder, I performed a charm upon Petunia's home, a charm which extends the protection which Lily gave Harry by her sacrifice. The magic that sacrifice produced is the strongest kind of magic known to wizardkind, and upon that magic I will rely to keep Harry safe from Lord Voldemort for his growing-up years. I must tell you now that although Voldemort seems to have been defeated, I do not believe his destruction is yet complete. He may return one day, and he may have loyal followers who will yet be willing to act on his behalf._

 _I have written a letter to Petunia explaining what has happened, and what I have done. She has received the letter and Harry into her home, and she has indicated in her response that she will care for him in her home. This agreement sealed the charm I placed upon her home, and Harry is now safe with her family._

 _I know that you will also wonder why I could not involve Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. Sirius himself was quite eager to take on his responsibility and raise Harry; indeed, it was he who arrived first at the house at Godric's Hollow and delivered Harry from the rubble. Convincing him that Harry would be safer in a house where his mother's blood resides was not an easy matter. And alas, since that time a second reason has arisen why he cannot raise Harry: Sirius was arrested just days ago for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and of 12 Muggles who were present at the time. He is now in Azkaban, where he is likely to remain for life. To this, I can only say that war can make us all unknowable, even to ourselves._

 _Let me convey to you my most sincere sympathy for you on this loss. I am sure that you are devastated. I am sure that continuing your studies will be most difficult, and that you will more than once experience the urge to leave school to force contact with your sister. Such urges are to be expected for someone who has experienced what you have experienced. However, please allow me to humbly suggest that your place, for the time being, is at school. You deserve an education, and you deserve all the experiences that come with these years of your life. Furthermore, though Harry Potter is safe for the time being, the time may well come when he will need you. You must be ready for such a time, and for that, you will need to be an educated young woman. As you study, as you practice, as you strive for academic success, let it be with your mind focused on the person you will need to be, both for Harry, and for yourself._

 _One final thing- I offer you a place at Hogwarts, should you decide that you would be happier here. It seemed to me that your heart is at Beauxbatons, but the choice is yours. I also offer you my correspondence. Should you have any questions, should you find that there is anything that you need, or should I be able to assist you in any way, letters addressed to me here at Hogwarts will find me._

 _You have all that you will need inside of you, Miss Rose Evans. Please allow me to say that your sister was very proud of you, as she reminded all around her constantly._

 _I remain your friend and humble servant,_

 _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Rose read this letter five or six times before she could tear her eyes away from it. In her daze, she was conscious of being grateful that he saw fit to tell her that he had examined the bodies of her sister and James. Had he known that she would need to read that in order to believe that words like "dead" and "murder" could apply to her sister?

The rest of the letter did little to break through her shock. She felt as if she were falling, but she did not have the wherewithal to struggle. Sirius in Azkaban? James' best friend Padfoot, the author of so much death? Paddy, with his dancing eyes and loud, abrupt laugh and his teasing smile, a _murderer_? Her mind rejected it even more firmly than it had rejected the news of Lily's death. Something was amiss, surely. Her thoughts feebly roamed over the day she went to Diagon Alley and she recalled Peter's silence as they ate their sandwiches at The Leaky Cauldron. Her mind struggled with the problem for a moment, and then gave way. She could make nothing of these facts, which jangled in her mind like odd keys and coins in a pocket.

Rose read and reread Dumbledore's letter several more times, in between pacing up and down her room and sinking to her bed with single, abrupt sobs. At some point Coco appeared, left some rolls and cheese, bowed, and left. It was only when Rose heard the distant rumble of students leaving the breakfast room that she acted with decision. She threw on a heavy cloak, packed a handbag with the rolls and cheese, Dumbledore's letter, and the album of pictures she had brought with her from Godric's Hollow, and strode out to the great staircase just as the first students were beginning to ascend it. Before any of her friends had appeared from the breakfast room, Rose was on the first floor of the castle and was outside.

 _I must make sense of this,_ she told herself. _I must make a plan_. Rose walked quickly through the gardens and cut straight across green, ignoring the ambling footpaths. She felt as if she were trying to overtake the horrible truth, even while she strove to be alone with it. Only when she came to a place beyond the castle walls, with a screen of trees between her and anyone else she could make out, did Rose slacken her pace. _What am I to do?_ This was her frantic question to herself as she paced the track between groves of trees. She paced, gripping the edge of her cloak, and began to think. She seemed to be slipping into a preternatural clarity, which she knew would not last. She would make use of it while she might.

 _Harry. I must help Harry. What will his life be at Petunia's? Petunia, who hasn't spoken to me since Mum and Dad died, who hadn't spoken to Lily in years. That silent, scowling husband of hers. But,_ she reasoned with herself, _Petunia, who sang me to sleep and read me stories. Petunia who went to all my ballet recitals and cheered for me, who babied me when I was ill. Petunia, who has a child now. Petunia will be kind to Lily's baby. Surely she will. And Harry will have a cousin to live with, a little friend! Like a brother._ Here Rose felt a pang; she had never met Dudley Dursley, and now she did not know when she ever would. But she was in a strange state of mind in which all painful emotions seemed temporarily suspended. She would pace this spinney until she had a plan, and then- and then-

Rose pushed all feeling to the other side of the spinney. It seemed to recede, brooding, to the castle while she paced. _Harry will stay with Petunia. What about the Christmas holidays?_ And again Rose struggled with a pain; she would not, after all, return to Godric's Hollow at Christmas, to see what Harry had learned to do and to laugh with Paddy and James. She would not go home. _Petunia. I will write Petunia, and maybe she will let me come for Christmas? For the summer?_ Her mind answered her instantly that Petunia would do no such thing, would probably not even reply. But she would try, she would write. _And I'll send Harry a Christmas present. I will write him. I will come to see him when he's older, when I'm older and I can go on my own. I'll remind him who I am._

Satisfied with this conclusion, her mind raced on. _Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore invited me to Hogwarts. Should I go? It was Lily's school, and James'. It would one day be Harry's. I should go there, I would be nearer to Harry. Perhaps I could stay on when I finish school, perhaps I could find work, and be there to help Harry when he comes. Ten years. How old shall I be then? Twenty-one. Old enough to be useful to him._ This plan seemed good, and her reason made much of it. But why did her heart shrink from it?

She thought of leaving France, leaving Beauxbatons, the scene of the fulfillment of her dreams, to go and live in the cold, misty mountains of Scotland, never to speak French or see Astou or Miguel or Lucas again, and her heart sank. _I don't want to go to Hogwarts,_ she realized. _How selfish I am! I should want to be there_. But Professor Dumbledore's letter came back to her mind and she snatched it out of her bag and re-read it once more. _You deserve an education, and you deserve all the experiences that come with these years of your life….It seems to me that your heart is at Beauxbatons._ He understood! Professor Dumbledore knew that she would want to stay in France. He did not think her selfish. And after, all, there was nothing to stop her from returning to England when once she had finished school. _It won't make any difference to Harry anyway_ , she reasoned. _Petunia probably won't let me see him. I will try!_ She promised herself. She stopped for a moment, realizing that another part of her plan had hardened. _I will stay at Beauxbatons._

She spared a thought, now, for Padfoot, now a prisoner in Azkaban. Lily and James had told her enough about the place that she shuddered to think of him there, unable to laugh his barking laugh. But he was a murderer; Professor Dumbledore had said, he had killed thirteen people. Wormy was dead! She had no room for additional horror at Peter Pettigrew's death. _I wonder if he can really have done it. I wonder if they proved it. What if it was somebody else, and they've got it wrong?_ The cold, thinking part of her mind, though it knew its minutes were numbered, had time for one more plan: _I will find out one day. Perhaps I will study the law and I will free him_. She imagined herself striding into a large, impressive looking courtroom to make powerful declarations to a faceless jury, freeing Sirius Black, defending Harry Potter from a menacing, angular figure while she was at it with skillful strokes of her cedar wand. Rose lifted up her chin at this image.

She had come to the end of her planning. And, she had come to the end of her ability to keep back the tears. Rose stumbled to the edge of a stream, deeper into the trees, where she let herself sob brokenheartedly for Lily, for James, for Harry, for Tuney who abandoned her, for her mother and father and Paddy and Peter, and for Mooney, who was all alone now. Her weeping could not last as long as her grief; weeping never can. But when it was concluded, Rose washed her swollen face in the cold water and ate her bread and cheese. She felt lighter now. She watched the owls soaring around the _Volière_ and wondered listlessly how long Lis would search for Lily before returning her letter to France. After a long time, Rose knew that she was cold, and she wanted her bed. She returned to her room, ignoring all greetings and inquiries from students and staff she met on the way. She slept for a long time.


	3. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Flowering

Over the weeks that followed, Rose found a way to live with the awful chasm that had opened inside her. It was not the way that Madame Maxime had suggested, nor the way that her friends thought best.

Madame Maxime suggested that Rose take some time away from her classes; "You can catch up later, when you feel better. Perhaps in the summer?"

Astou thought Rose should spend more time with her friends. "You don't smile anymore, Rose! Come down to the _salon_ with us, and play Disappearing _Coinche_. I've gotten better at it! We can beat Miguel and Lucas, you and I!"

Madame Maxime did not understand. Going to classes, studying, was all that drove Rose to get out of bed. It was the only meaning she could make out of her days. And Astou, though her friendship was sincere, did not understand either. When Rose finished her homework at the end of the day, she was too drained to do anything beyond eat and sleep. Rose often thought ruefully to herself that she was probably not doing a very good job at missing her sister. But it was the only way she knew how.

The next months were a blur of classes, solitary meals, and incidents of accidental public crying. Try though Rose might, the painful sadness would come into her mind, clouding it so that she could not understand what people around her said, and she would begin to weep against her will. She became very familiar with the locations of all the school's many bathrooms, for she could often be found crying in them, having dashed out of a class or a meal. She winced when she overheard students muttering about her; she understood them perfectly: " _Voilà l'étrange petite fille anglaise,"_ one would say. And another would reply, " _Elle ressemble à un fantôme pleurant!_ " And they would giggle and walk away, leaving Rose to look in the mirror and furiously try to wipe away the tears and to lessen her resemblance to a weeping ghost.

Christmas made her feel ghostlier than ever, however. She was one of only a couple of dozen students who remained over the holidays; all of her friends were home with their families, even if, as in Astou's case, they had to take a magical boat from the nearby lake to get there. Rose had written to Petunia in late November. _I know that you do not like magic,_ she had pleaded, _but if I promise not to do magic in your home, may I visit you for Christmas? I would love to meet your son, and to see Harry._ Her sister's reply had been terse. _We are visiting Vernon's sister for Christmas like we always do. We won't be home. You'd better stay at school._ Rose had expected it, but it was a blow all the same.

Almost as bad was the realization that she had nothing to give little Harry, and no way to send anything to Petunia by Muggle post. She knew instinctively that nothing sent by owl would be accepted at her sister's home. Rose had a few galleons with her, and Professor Dumbledore had her Gringott's key and had promised to send her money from her sister's vault as she needed. But at school, as James had jokingly pointed out, there was nowhere to buy gifts. Students at Beauxbatons needed to be in year four before they could visit the nearby village of Cauterets.

One night, while she was wondering if she had the courage to ask an older student, none of whom she knew well, to buy her something in the village, Rose came upon her old stuffed rabbit. She'd packed it sentimentally with Lily, thinking it might be comforting on lonely nights. Once she'd arrived at school, Rose had been too self-conscious to actually make use of Coney, but now she realized with joy that here was something she could send to Harry to make him remember her.

She attached a small card which simply said, "To Harry, With Love, From Aunt Rose." She furrowed her brow when she realized she had nothing to give her other nephew, little Dudley, who would be eighteen months old at Christmas. She had a little muggle money, and after a moment's consideration she placed it in an envelope and wrote, "For Dudley, so that he might choose his own present, Love, Aunt Rose" on the outside of it.

Rose packaged these up in the brown parcel paper that was supplied to students in the _Volière._ She wrote an accompanying letter to Professor Dumbledore, asking him to kindly see that these Christmas gifts were sent to her sister's Petunia's house, _by Muggle post, please!_ she specified. _My sister will not allow an owl into her house._ Professor Dumbledore's response was timely and reassuring. _I will be happy to post your gifts for you from the muggle Postal Office nearest the Ministry of Magic_ , he wrote, _and I will do so any time you have a letter or gift which you would like to send._ The rest of his letter contained praise for her hard work at school; he seemed to have very specific information about Rose's progress in her classes. Rose wondered whether Madame Maxime had written him about her. She remembered that James had said he was mad. _I suppose if I knew as much as Professor Dumbledore I might seem mad to other people too,_ she thought.

When Christmas Day came, Rose wept for sheer loneliness and melancholy. But, as she reminded herself, hugging herself in her dormitory bed, _I cry every day. Today I just have more chocolate, and I don't have to go to class._ She smiled wryly through her tears at that. And, she noted to herself with satisfaction, _Harry is opening my gift today, perhaps right now! Even now he may have Coney in his fat little hands._ This thought cheered her slightly. Still, on Boxing Day, when the weather turned rainy and she knew she had a fortnight before classes would resume, Rose had nothing to distract her from yet another prolonged fit of weeping.

One night in late February, Rose was awake, crying softly into her pillow as she so often did. She had become expert at doing it so softly that it disturbed no one. But this night, Rose felt a hand on her shoulder as she blew her nose almost noiselessly into her handkerchief.

Astou's large, dark eyes shone at her in the darkness of their room. "Rose, I'm so sorry for your sister. I'm so sorry. Can't I sit with you and make you warm?"

Rose sniffed, and for once, she accepted Astou's offer gratefully. She moved over in her white canopied bed for Astou's tall body to fit next to her. "I just can't stop crying, Tou-Tou. I want to! I know it makes me look-"

""Like a kitchen sponge, yes." Astou responded, and Rose chuckled in spite of herself.

"When I'm crying, I can't understand my lessons!" Rose fretted in a whisper. "I've just got to find a way to stop."

Astou looked at Rose thoughtfully. "Do you want to know my trick, Rose? When I'm trying not to cry?"

"Oh, yes, please, Astou! I never see you cry!"

"My brothers would pinch me and tease if I did. So when I felt myself welling up I'd think of the moon."

Rose was perplexed. "You think of the moon? What does that do?" 

Astou shrugged. "I know it sounds odd, but the moon is so bright, and so cold, and it's the furthest thing from crying that I can think of. It steadies me. Do you want to borrow my moon from me? Try it now."

Rose thought about the full moon on the last time that she had observed it, during their _Astronomie_ practical test in December. It had been luminous and serene and very white. Rose had had a difficult time focusing on the stars, because the cold of that night had made her eyes water and the stars all seemed to dance blurrily. But the moon had been stable and bright and reliable. It was a soothing memory. Rose realized that she was breathing deeply; her muscles had relaxed.

"Astou! Your moon works! I will try it in _Enchantements_ tomorrow to see if it keeps my head clear." On impulse, she hugged her friend's warm, steady body. "Thank you. Thank you for being my friend, even though I'm a _fantôme pleurant_ most of the time."

Astou hugged her back. "Does that mean you'll play Disappearing _Coinche_ on my team tomorrow?"

"Maybe." Rose did not want to commit; what if the moon did not work during class, and her head was not clear? "Or maybe Saturday?"

"Saturday is better. I have not done my _Défense Contre la Magie Noire_ homework anyway."

"I can help you," offered Rose, for whom this class came surprisingly easily. "Sit with me tomorrow evening in the _salon_."

Astou spent all that night in Rose's bed, even though the beds were really too narrow for two. In after years Rose would look at her bed and marvel that they had really fit two young women in that space, but she had been grateful. For the morning found her feeling more refreshed and clear-headed than she had felt in a long time. Her classes were a pleasure that day. When at once point during _Herbologie_ Rose felt the familiar tightening at the back of her throat (they had been struggling with a very discouraging transplantation), she summoned the memory of the full moon to her mind, and within seconds, she was breathing freely and thinking clearly again. With the moon in her mind and Astou at her side, Rose found herself coming to life again.

Rose Evans' career at Beauxbatons was, by anyone's metric, very successful. She did, as Astou suggested, play frequent games of Disappearing _Coinche_ and often chatted and joked and studied with Miguel and Lucas, Astou and Camille, and Luciana at meals and in the _salon_. But she was a serious and driven student. Rose took Dumbledore's advice very much to heart, and she studied and practiced long after her fellows had lost patience. She strove for good marks in everything, but quickly found that her strengths were in _Enchantements_ and _Défense Contre la Magie Noire_ (which Beauxbatons students simply called, _Contre_ ).

On a whim, after Miguel jokingly challenged her to do it, Rose attended a dueling club meeting. On the first exercise, Rose disarmed her partner easily, and within weeks she was producing Body-Bind Curses and Jelly-Leg Jinxes with ease (and secret enjoyment). Astou's moon was her friend here too, for Rose would begin a duel with a deep breath and a gaze at a full moon in her mind that no one else could see. She never missed a meeting of the dueling club, and more than one bully at Beauxbatons received one of Rose's signature Instant Scalping Hexes in corridors or behind the greenhouses in the years that followed.

In her fourth year, Rose made frequent visits to Cauterets, where she and her friends sampled the blueberry framboise, bought sweet rolls and coffee, and gained a measure of freedom. One autumn, Rose could be seen strolling the magical district hand in hand with Lucas Nadon; another year, she sipped framboise while sitting knee-to-knee with. Gabriel Lamaison. When they were sixteen, Astou turned a corner into an alley in Cauterets and collided with Rose, in the act of kissing Antoine Paquin. Because Rose had recently surprised her doing the same thing with Miguel Martín in the student _salon,_ however, Astou told no one.

Rose spent the money she'd inherited from Lily with caution. She would treat Astou to macarons or steaming cups of _chocolat_ , from time to time, but always she made sure to put enough money aside to change to muggle money, in order to buy her nephews proper gifts. Twice a year, Rose made these purchases with religious deliberateness. Just outside the narrow alley which led one from the wizarding district to the muggle portion of the village was Jolis Jouets, a family owned toy shop. Monsieur Jaubert and his family soon came to recognize and remember the funny little girl in the quaint blue dresses who came in twice a year to buy gifts for her nephews. Sometimes Rose bought Harry and Dudley two of the same thing, as the year she sent them both talking, beeping robots, which the shop owner assured her were very popular with little boys of her nephews' age. At other times, she saw something that seemed just for Harry, as the year she purchased the re-writable message board which glowed in the dark. She didn't have quite enough money for two of the same, so she bought Dudley a dozen small toy cars in hopes that the quantity of gifts would distract him. Professor Dumbledore posted her gifts from London twice a year, just as he had promised, and Rose had to be content with loving Harry through the post.

Petunia rarely responded to Rose's letters. Rose asked again at the end of her first year, and for her second Christmas, whether she might come to visit. Petunia answered the first by simply stating that the family would be far too busy traveling to receive her; the second she ignored entirely. So, during the summers, Rose was placed into a host families program for students who for various reasons were unable to return to their families. Rose stayed one summer with the Bissets, one summer with the Allaires, two with the Vastines and three (including the summer following her graduation) with the Ostiguy family, whose children knew her as a combination nanny and governess. She worked in whatever capacity she could, and treasured her small savings.

Rose did not return to England for thirteen years.

She graduated with great honors and acclaim in 1988. Immediately, she wrote to Petunia to inform her of the fact, and to ask for a visit. In actual fact, Rose knew enough magic by then to break down the door of her aunt's house in Surrey and enter it without any of the muggle neighbors being the wiser. But, she hesitated to do this. For one thing, Rose still cherished hopes of a friendly reunion with her sister, and forcing entry into her home, not to mention whatever other measure she might have to take to subdue Petunia and her family during the visit, seemed like a poor way to promote such a reunion. For another thing, there was the matter of her prospects. Rose had been an impressive student, and Madame Maxime, knowing her to be without family support, had taken an interest in Rose's future.

"There are so many things which you can do, Rose," Madame had told her a few weeks before her graduation. "A smart, educated, bilingual girl like yourself can do anything she wishes. What is it that you wish?"

Rose had sat, silent for a moment, writhing between what she _wanted_ and what she felt she _ought_ to say. In a flash, she thought of Petunia's terse responses, of the years of silence from Harry, of Astou and Miguel who would would probably invite her to a wedding soon, and of Dumbledore's letters-

"I want to travel, Madame," she had said suddenly. And in a few letters from Madame Maxime, it was done. Rose was offered a position with the Ministère des Affaires Magiques Internationales, and though the position was quite junior, it would take her to the Magical Congress of the USA in New York for a diplomatic mission that very August. Rose accepted immediately.

In New York, Rose wrote reports, translated, advised the Ministère's diplomats on avoiding detection by American No-Majs, and kept late hours. She nearly cried with glee when Ambassador Brodeur expressed a desire to attend the opera with the American MacUSA President, and she encouraged this desire with every subtle art she possessed. In the year in which Rose turned 19, she accompanied the Ambassador to Brazil, South Africa, and Germany; after her promotion to Cultural Attaché when she was 20, she visited Spain and attended the 1990 European Convention of Wizards in Geneva. Rose never neglected to send gifts for her nephews, always by Muggle post, from wherever she happened to be in the world.

"How delighted they will be to receive all this postage from Brazil and Africa and Germany!" she always thought as she waited in line in postal offices, wearing the jeans or slacks or tailored skirts she always brought for Muggle-worthy occasions. "Surely it will be exciting for Harry to know that he has an aunt who will have such stories to tell him!"

But these thoughts of her nephews, as pleasant as they were, were never able to overcome her excitement at her widening life, and her pleasure at her growing sense of importance and competence in her role. Furthermore, in quiet moments, Rose recognized a deep sort of dread at the prospect of going home. If she met Harry, her baby, who would not recognize her if he saw her, what would she say?

In the first year after she finished school, Rose had sent Harry a letter. The memory of her year with Lily and James was still strong enough to make her do it. _I have finished school and I have a flat in Paris,_ she explained in her letter. _Would you like to come to Paris for a visit this summer? Or may I come to visit you? I can travel more easily now._ She waited, torn between impatience and trepidation, for the Muggle post to deliver his reply. When it came, she read it several times before she set it down, frowning. It was printed in a very deliberate hand, and the words said, _Thank you for your letter. My cousin and I are traveling a lot this summer so I don't think I'll be able to visit or have a visitor. Thank you anyway. Thank you for all the presents too. Harry._

Rose was torn between hurt and relief at this response. _Petunia taught him well_ , she thought wryly. She supposed she would have to wait until he was at Hogwarts to lay eyes on Harry Potter. She felt the meeting would be inevitable, but now that she had grown so far from the little girl who took his picture and begged him not to forget her, the prospect of it made her increasingly uncomfortable as the years passed. In hotels and in government halls, she would think of Petunia, and of Harry, and then quickly shake off her discomfort.

"Well," she would say to herself. "They don't want me there." And she would shake her head and return to the scene around her.

One rainy evening, Rose was sitting in her Paris flat, watching with sleepy satisfaction the curving shapes made by the steam from her tea. She was resting for a few days, having just returned the previous evening from a diplomatic mission in Cairo. On such days, Rose wished she lived in one place long enough so that she could keep a cat. _It would be just the thing_ , she thought, imagining a purring body of warmth on her feet as the rain drummed on her roof.

For an instant, Rose mistook the insistent drumming on her window for rain, too, but she glanced up and saw a disgruntled and very wet looking Tawny Owl on her windowsill. She hurried to let him in and quickly took the letter he gripped in his talons. The owl shook his feathers with a flourish and perched atop Lis' cage while Rose read the letter with the Beauxbatons seal.

 _My very dear Rose,_

 _I hope that the owl is able to find you safely home from your latest mission. I often hear acclaim for your good work with the_ Ministère, _and take great pride in recounting your accomplishments to the students at Beauxbatons._ _I hope you are well!_

 _I am writing to offer you another travel opportunity, though one which will not take place until the autumn. You have have heard the rumors that the Triwizard Tournament is to be revived this year. I am delighted to tell you that they are true! This autumn a delegation will travel from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There will also be a delegation from Durmstrang, arriving at the same time._

 _Our delegation will including finalists for Beauxbatons champions, all 6th and 7th year students, and will remain at Hogwarts for the duration of the tournament. As this will mean an entire academic year away from school for our finalists, I am looking to provide them with sufficient education and preparation for their examinations, which they will need to take immediately upon their return. I am looking, in short, for a traveling teacher. Of course, I immediately thought of you. You would be the perfect choice, with your knowledge of English and your experience in travel, not mentioning your excellent academic record. And of course, I thought of your dear nephew at school at Hogwarts, and I thought you might like to see him as well._

 _If it is agreeable to you, you can return to Beauxbatons this summer to prepare and to become acquainted with the finalists you are to teach. We will depart from Lac de Gaube in early October. I have been in touch with Madame Desroches at the_ Ministère des Affaires Magiques Internationales, _and she agrees with me that you are a perfect choice for this position. You may send your response with this very owl, if you please! But perhaps, to secure his goodwill, it would be best to wait for the weather to improve._

 _I long to see you. I hope you can accept! I send all my best wishes and_

 _Fondest Regards,_

 _Madame Olympe Maxime,_

 _Headmistress_

 _L'Académie de Magie de Beauxbâtons_

Rose put down her tea upon concluding this letter. All her sleepy contentment had been washed away, as if the cold rain had deluged her from inside the flat. She took her eyes from the page, heart pounding, and stared without seeing at the Tawny Owl. Abruptly, she strode into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of red wine.

As she sipped- no, gulped- the Malbec, Rose had a sudden strong memory of pacing the spinney on the Beauxbatons grounds after receiving another distressing letter. She fell into a stride from the kitchen to her bedroom and back again, but thought would not come. _After all,_ she thought ruefully, _there is nothing to think about._ In Rose's mind, there was no choice to be made. Perhaps exasperated by her indecision, life had decided for her. She would return to England in six short months.

 _How old will Harry be?_ she thought stupidly, her head spinning. Fourteen. He will be fourteen, growing, halfway to a man. Would he be pleased to see her in his school? Would he be embarrassed, as boys that age so often were by their families? Would she have anything to say to him? Could a teenage boy have any use for a twenty-four year old Aunt who had never so much as been to Hogwarts? Her doubts weighed next to nothing, however, compared to the sense of fatal conviction that propelled her to write her letter to Madame Maxime, accepting the position.

In her bedroom, Rose dug around in her desk. Her hands were no longer shaking, thanks to the ministrations of the Malbec. She retrieved at last the thing she was seeking: a worn photo album with a red-haired woman and her baby on the cover. Rose turned the pages slowly. Harry and James. Harry and Fat Lady, the cat. Sirius and James, and Harry. Rose, skinny and solemn eyed, and Harry. Tears, no doubt also borne of the wine, sprang to her eyes.

"Don't forget me, Harry," she whispered. "I'll see you soon."


	4. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Native Soil

Harry could hear Ron and Hermione whispering behind him.

"Blimey, she's enormous. Look at her, her hands are bigger than Dennis Creevey."

"Don't stare, Ron. It isn't as if you've never seen someone her size before."

"She's bigger than Hagrid. I wonder who would win in a fight . . .?"

"Come," Madame Maxime's voice rang out, and her students obediently formed a line behind her. Harry took a step back as the enormous woman and her students passed by them in a flutter of silks, and as he did so he suddenly started. At the tail of the procession was a woman who looked terribly familiar to him. Before he had the chance to dismiss it as absurd, it came to him that Aunt Petunia was striding toward him wearing Beauxbatons robes. But no; it couldn't be. Besides that Aunt Petunia would never be found in such a context (the idea was absurd), this woman was much younger. Also, while she had Aunt Petunia's long neck and blonde hair, her eyes, which met his as she came closer, were green. They looked like-

"Honestly, Ron, stop gaping," Hermione hissed. "Harry, what's the matter with you?"

"I'm- I've- nothing."

Seamus smirked. "Seen one you fancy, Harry?" he asked.

"No, no." Harry was frowning, still bemused. "I just thought I saw someone I knew, for a moment."

"Well that isn't likely, is it?" Seamus said, laughingly. "Unless you've been taking summer classes in Beauxbatons? Mind you, I wouldn't mind sitting next to some of _them_ in Transfiguration."

"You're transfigured already," Ron said, grinning. "From man into slathering dog."

"AWOOOOO!" Seamus howled, though quietly, as several teachers were still outside with them. "Anyway, how big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?"

By the time the second course arrived, Harry was already restless. Having eaten his fill during the first course, he occupied himself with craning his neck, trying to get another glance of the familiar looking Beauxbatons woman. He had decided, after his second look at her upon entering the hall, that she looked too old to be a student. Was she a sort of junior teacher? And why did feel he must know who she was?

Harry was staring so hard in the direction of the Beauxbatons tables that he didn't notice Professor Dumbledore's approach until Hermione yanked on his robes and jerked her head in Dumbledore's direction.

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Might I borrow you for a moment? There is someone I would like for you to meet."

Harry exchanged only the smallest look of surprise with Ron across the table before getting to his feet and following the headmaster to the Ravenclaw table.

"Miss Evans, will you allow me to make this introduction?"

The woman whom Professor Dumbledore was addressing looked up, startled, and changed color. She suddenly looked nervous, but she got to her feet and smiled at Harry. "Of course. Hello, Harry."

Dumbledore smiled and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, this is Rose Evans. I do not believe you have seen her since you were quite small. Miss Evans," and here he put his other hand on the woman's shoulder, "Your nephew."

 _Nephew?_ Harry's mouth fell open, though he quickly shut it and shook the hand the woman was offering. "Hello," was all he managed to say.

Dumbledore beamed. "I am sure you two have much to say to each other! Alas, we have only a few minutes before I must introduce the tedious details surrounding the Tournament." With a nod of his head, Dumbledore turned and walked back in the direction of the staff table.

Miss Evans cleared her throat. "I'm very pleased to see you at last, Harry. I have wanted to meet you for a very long time. I knew you as a baby, of course, but you wouldn't remember that." She hesitated, and then said in a softer tone, "You look exactly like your father."

"Yes," Harry returned. This sounded a bit inadequate, so he added, "I've been told that."

"I was very fond of James. He was very generous to me after our parents died. He enlarged my room, he took me to my lessons… he did everything he could to make me comfortable. When he wasn't pranking me and hiding my bed in the bathtub, that is." She grinned, and suddenly Harry's realization crashed into his thoughts.

"You were in the mirror," he blurted out.

Miss Evans' grin faded somewhat and she looked perplexed. "I'm sorry?"

"The Mirror of Erised, that's where I've seen you before. You were behind my mother in the mirror, I saw you my first year." As he finished saying this it occurred to him that this might be a strange thing to say to someone. But his mind was whirling. He had been sure that all of the people he saw in the mirror were dead. He had assumed they must be dead, or why wouldn't he have met them before? Why hadn't he met Rose Evans before? This last question seemed too awkward to ask aloud, so he settled on, "I… I didn't know where you were living."

She smiled understandingly. "I know. I travel so often that it can be difficult to keep track of where I am at any moment. For the present, however, I will make my home here. You will have to put up with me for the entire year, Harry!" she said in a gently teasing voice.

Harry was still confused, but at that moment, Professor Dumbledore stood up. The usual silence began to spread as he smiled pleasantly from the staff table.

"We can catch up later, Harry," Miss Evans whispered, giving one last smile and resuming her seat. Harry stumbled back to the Gryffindor table- why did it seem such a long walk?- and met Ron and Hermione's raised eyebrows and whispered inquiries with a quiet, "Later."

Harry slouched past the jeering Slytherins, avoiding their eyes and trying to make himself as small as possible. He still caught a visual chorus of **Potter Stinks** from nearly every direction, however, so when he met Colin Creevey's bright smile and "All right, Harry?" he could only grunt. But then a very different voice was speaking.

"Harry. How are you?"

He turned and saw Rose Evans and two of her Beauxbatons students at the end of the corridor. She motioned for him to join her in the alcove, and then looked at the boy and girl who were with her. " _Monsieur Porcher, Mademoiselle Villeneuve, passez devant moi dans la Grande Salle. Je vous rejoindrai bientôt._ " The two blue-robed students left her side, staring briefly at Harry before walking in the direction of the Great Hall.

Rose Evans smiled. "How are you doing, Harry? I had no idea when I came to Hogwarts to teach during the Tournament that I'd be watching my nephew compete. It rather strains my loyalties, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't really expect…" Harry trailed off stupidly. Why could he never think of anything to say to her?

She didn't seem put off. "You did look astonished when Professor Dumbledore read your name. Fleur tells us that you said you didn't even put your name in the Goblet. Is that true?"

"Yeah- no. I mean, I didn't put my name in. But it seems like I've got to compete anyway." Realizing this sounded rather like a complaint, he added, "I mean, I'm sure it'll be… fine."

Rose was studying him thoughtfully. "Yes. I suppose it has to be, doesn't it? Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Bagman, they won't let anyone come to any real harm, I'm sure. But it seems as if it will be rather harrowing. Do you have any idea what the first task is going to be?"

"No, I don't. I think it's supposed to be a secret." He glanced around nervously. He thought he had just enough time to get to Charms, if-

"Do you need to go somewhere?" Rose seemed to read his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, trying to sound apologetic. "It's, just- Charms is on the third floor."

"Oh, go, by all means! I don't want to make you late!" He nodded and faintly smiled before stepping around her toward the staircase.

But Harry heard Rose's voice again, and he turned part way around before realizing she was talking to one of the Slytherins behind them. "Ah, zer ees one of zos cunning leetle badges! May I see what eet sayz?" she spoke in an exaggerated French accent, totally unlike the way she had recently been talking to him. Intrigued, Harry stepped into the staircase and stopped, just out of sight, to listen.

"Pottair Steenks." she read aloud. "Oh, but 'ow clever! 'Ow is zees accomplished?" Harry heard the Slytherin boy say, "Hey!" Rose had evidently taken the badge off of his robes.

"Ah, but I must see how zis works! Oh, very good, very good, zis ees _ingénieuse_! Don't worree, I will purchase my own. Zer you go!" Harry, who had moved to an angle in the staircase where he could see Rose and the Slytherin boy, saw her pin the badge back onto his chest. She gave it a theatrical pat, but Harry could see her wand moving in the hand that was behind her back.

"Ha!" laughed a Ravenclaw boy who was also watching the exchange. "It's busted, Montague!"

The badge feebly flashed the word, " **Potter**!" before going entirely blank.

"Oh no!" Rose exclaimed with apparent dismay. "Pairhaps zis was not made vairy well, _no_? How terrible! Where deed you get zis thing? Ze makair is much to blame!" She turned her back on the frowning Montague and her face briefly showed mirth, before she spotted Harry in the staircase. She calmed her expression somewhat, but gave him a very small wink before walking serenely away.

As Harry resumed his journey to Charms, he considered the likelihood that the badge had broken spontaneously while Rose Evans' wand was twitching behind her back. A grin slowly spread over his face as he picked up his pace. He was late to Charms. _It was worth it_ , he decided.

Around a week after she disabled the spell on Graham Montague's badge, Rose had successfully disabled six more badges, most of them without the owners' awareness. She continued to ape her exaggerated French accent when interacting with most of the Hogwarts students, dappling her speech with French words and phrases for effect. Partly, this appealed to her sense of fun, which she rarely allowed herself to exercise. And partly, she felt she wanted to give Harry the room to deny he knew who she was, if that was what he chose to do. She sensed his hesitancy during their brief conversations, and had decided that he must be allowed to decide how quickly they became acquainted. _Besides_ , she reminded herself, _he's got quite a lot on his plate as it is._ "He must be the youngest Triwizard Champion in history," Madame Maxime had said as she consoled Fleur Delacour. Fleur, who was full of indignation, refused to believe that the " _petit garçon,_ " as she called him, hadn't put his name into the Goblet of his own will. Rose was normally fond of Fleur, but at that moment she had had to leave the room before her face displayed her contempt. _What a popinjay,_ she had thought, scowling. _She might focus on her own preparation instead._

Rose's curiosity about Harry had turned to worry, and she was increasingly indignant with the way many students from Hogwarts seemed to regard him as an upstart show-off. She had seen nothing but discomfort in his expressions of late, when she stole glances at him in the Great Hall or in corridors. He didn't seem to have inherited any of James' brash confidence. Rose wondered increasingly about his upbringing at Petunia's home. How did Petunia feel about her nephew attending Hogwarts? Had she made peace with the magical world at last? Or, had her resentment driven her to any unkindness toward Harry? Rose was fretting over this question in the Great Hall one afternoon when a girl's voice interrupted her thoughts.

" _Excusez-moi madame, pouvez-vous me dire de quel type de soupe il s'agit? Est-ce français ou hongrois_?" The Hogwarts girl's French was halting and delivered in a strong English accent, but the grammar was correct.

Rose smiled into girl's earnest face, which was framed by a mane of wild brown hair. " _C'est Provençal,"_ she explained, _"Cela s'appelle Pistou. Est-ce que tu parles français_?"

" _Juste un peu_ ," the girl admitted.

"Well then, why don't we continue our conversation in English?" Rose saw the girl's shoulders sag in relief. "My name is Rose Evans. Aren't you a friend of Harry Potter's? Your French is very correct!"

"Thank you, Miss Evans. Yes, Harry has been my friend since first year. My name is Hermione Granger. I've been to France with my parents many times, and I studied it at Muggle primary school." Hermione looked pleased with herself, though she kept casting her eyes back on her bowl of soup to make sure it wasn't spilling.

"Ah, a fellow Muggle-born witch! We have to stick together, you know!" Rose felt herself warming to this upright young girl with her serious expression. "Why don't we continue our conversation at your table, so that you don't have to eat _pistou_ standing up? That could get messy very quickly!"

Hermione agreed to this, and Rose left her curious students and went to sit at the end of the Gryffindor table, next to Hermione and across from a gangly, red-haired young man with a surly expression. He looked up with astonishment when Rose sat down, however. Rose gave him a broad smile. His face reddened impressively.

"Miss Evans, this is Ron Weasley." Hermione glanced at Rose, and then narrowed her eyes in challenge to Ron.

"Lovely to meet you," said Rose, extending a hand.

Ron shook it awkwardly. "Yes. I mean, it's good to meet you, too." The flush was spreading to his ears, now.

"You are both friends of Harry's, aren't you?" Rose asked.

This elicited an interesting response. Ron opened his mouth, then shut it, and then scowled. He stole a look at Hermione, who was glaring back at him. "Well, I mean-" Ron did not seem to know how to answer this question.

"Yes, we _both_ are Harry's friends, Miss Evans," she answered for him.

"Since first year, as Hermione says?" Rose leaned toward Ron slightly.

Ron looked back at her, and then responded grudgingly, "Yeah, since the train to school on our first term."

"That's wonderful. It makes such a difference, having loyal friends at school. I had one like that," she added a little sadly. The last time she had seen Astou had been at Astou's and Miguel's wedding. "Harry seems in a bit over his head with this Tournament," she continued. "He'll be really needing his friends just now, I expect."

Rose saw Hermione give Ron a pointed look, and saw his frown settle a little deeper in his face. There was a momentary awkward silence before Hermione spoke again.

"So, you're Harry's aunt. Petunia is your sister. Are you still in touch with her?"

Rose shook her head. "We haven't spoken in many years, I'm afraid. I'm twelve years younger than she is, and we've lived . . . very different lives." Rose spoke carefully. Then she resumed, "But I hope to see her again now that I'm back in the country. But then, you may have seen more of Petunia than I have, being Harry's best friends since first year. I suppose you've been to visit him over the summer holidays?"

Hermione said simply, "No," while Ron laughed derisively.

"Not unless you count the time I rescued him from his bedroom. I caught a glimpse of Harry's uncle then. We had to tear the bars off his bedroom window." Ron's tone was harsher than before.

Rose raised her eyebrows. She was finding it hard to decide if Ron was joking. "The bars off his window? Is this a British expression that I've missed?"

"No, he had literal bars on his window. He was being punished; I forget what he'd done, something about messing up a pudding. Anyway, they weren't feeding him, and he wasn't getting my letters, so we rescued him in Dad's car." Ron grinned at the memory, then glanced at Rose's frown. "My dad enchanted this old Ford Anglia to fly, see. We flew him to my house for the rest of the holidays. Oh, and I saw Harry's Muggles this summer too! How could I forget?" He smiled reminiscently. "We had to break part of their house to get him out then, but my brothers jinxed Harry's bullying git of a cousin."

Ron must have misinterpreted Rose's expression, for he said quickly, "Not to worry, my Dad sorted out their house, and Dudley too. They're all back to normal now."

Rose shook her head. "I'm sure you did what needed to be done. I expect Harry prefers to be with his friends?"

"Well, and we had tickets to the Quidditch World Cup! He'd've been mental to miss that. But yeah, you should hear him go on about them. His aunt and uncle sound like a right nightmare." Ron quelled under a look Hermione was giving him. "Well, I'm sure your sister is all right, though."

"She used to be," Rose said slowly. "I'm not so sure she is now. So Vernon and Petunia are putting bars on Harry's window?"

"They did that summer, yeah. But at least he has a bedroom now; he says before his Hogwarts letter came he was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs."

Rose's spoon fell out of her grip. She picked it up quickly, but she sat back in her chair and looked grave as Ron finished saying,

"But it seems like they're going easier on Harry since this summer. You know, since they found out about Sir-OW!" Ron broke off. Evidently Hermione had kicked him under the table.

Over Hermione's shoulder, Rose saw Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students get to their feet and she rose, too. "I'm afraid I must go. I have two afternoon classes to teach. I have so enjoyed meeting the two of you. I hope to see you again."

"I'd love that, Miss Evans," Hermione said sincerely. " _Au revoir."_

" _Au revoir, cher."_ Rose smiled as she rejoined the blue-robed throng. Hermione watched her go, and then turned to Ron. "Why don't you tell her to her face how horrible her sister is, _Ron._ What a brilliant move. While you're at it, why not go ahead and tell her that we're in touch with Sirius Black, too? No sense concealing absolutely any-"

"All right, all right, I shouldn't have said that about Sirius. Fine. But she's got a right to know what a cow her sister is to Harry. She should know what a cauldron of shit she left him in."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. " _Left_ him in? I don't think there's any reason to think she left him. I think she's pretty young. She was in school when Harry's parents were killed."

" _I'm_ in school, Hermione, but if some kid of Bill's were being raised by those Muggles, I'd learn to apparate tomorrow."

" _Would_ you though?" Hermione retorted. "You can't even finish your Divination essay that was set you a week ago." They continued to bicker until the food on the cluttered tables was magically cleared away.

" _Yeah, you can have a word," said Harry savagely. "_ Good-bye."

 _And he set off back to the castle with Ron._

Rose had pushed her way through the crowd of Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang students to reach Harry, but he was already taking a fast walk back to the castle, flanked by his friends.

"Just one moment, please!" the journalist in the ugly green robes persisted, beginning to pursue them. "How do you feel about this, Miss Granger? Would you say you've been worried about Harry? Distraught? Been sleeping badly?"

"I believe Harry just expressed that he does not wish to give an interview, Madam," Rose said politely, stepping in front of the journalist so as to impede her progress. "I would assume that would extend to his friends, as well."

"Oh, never mind, never mind." The woman gave her a disgusted look, and then her expression changed and a sickly smile spread over her face. "What about you, then? People are saying Harry has a long-lost relative, just back from France. Care to share how it's affecting you to watch your nephew, your only living relative, compete in a potentially life-threatening Tournament?" She leaned forward greedily as she looked Rose up and down, a green quill snapping feverishly on parchment.

Rose was uncomfortably wondering just how much this woman knew about her when they were interrupted by a sallow, dark-cloaked man whom Rose recognized from the staff table as a Hogwarts teacher.

"Ms. Skeeter, the headmaster has asked that journalists depart the school at this time. The students must return to their studies." The man pronounced these polite words such that they were heavy with malice. "He furthermore says that you are not to enter the grounds when Triwizard Tasks are not in session. May I escort you to the apparition point?"

The woman glowered, but she seemed to recognize defeat. "No, _thank you_ , Severus Snape, I can see myself out." She began to move away, but stopped for a last jeer. "Sticking up for old friends, are we? You two should have plenty to catch up on. Old memories from the Midlands and Lily Evans, eh?" she cackled before turning on her heel and marching away.

Rose shook her head. "A journalist who does research! What a rarity. She should be in a museum of curiosities."

"Indeed." Snape was gazing at Rose with an unreadable expression. As she returned his gaze, Rose remembered where she had heard his name before.

"You're Severus!" she cried. "My sister . . . would talk about you."

"Did she?" he responded tonelessly. "I seem to recall her mentioning a baby at home. I suppose that would be you. You resemble her." He straightened his shoulders and inclined his head. "Good afternoon to you."

He began to move in the direction of the castle, but on impulse, Rose caught up with him and put her hand on his elbow. "Why don't you escort me back to the Beauxbatons carriage? I like to speak with anyone that knew Lily."

He hesitated, but then offered his arm. Rose took it, and they began to walk slowly toward the front of the castle grounds, where the carriage was stationed.

They walked in silence for the first half of the journey. Behind them, crowds of students, teachers, and visitors were splitting into smaller groups and spreading out, so that the noise level dropped. Rose cast about for a beginning. "Severus. I was too young to have met you before, of course, but I know you lived in Cokeworth. I know where your house was. I know Lily was very fond of you, but I also know that you had a falling out. She used to talk about you so sadly, as if you were someone she was never going to see again."

The shadow of a grimace crossed Snape's face. "Yes. I knew Lily when we were at school." At first, Rose thought this would be his only answer, but then he continued, "She always said you were Petunia's little pet. She hardly knew you."

Rose wondered if he meant to hurt her feelings. She decided she didn't care. "Yes, well, Petunia was home, wasn't she? And Lily was here ten months of the year. But I'm not in touch with Petunia now. She hasn't spoken to me since I got my Hogwarts letter. She did me the same as she did Lily." Rose realized to her horror that she'd begun to slip into her Midlands accent. She cleared her throat and continued with more control. "So you are a Hogwarts professor now? What is it that you teach?"

"Potions," was his terse answer.

"Oh, Lily's favorite subject!" Rose smiled brightly at him. "How lovely. You must teach Harry. Didn't he do splendidly today? Isn't he a magnificent flyer? I had no idea!"

"Oh yes," Snape's voice became caustic, "As in everything else, he resembles his father precisely. The same tricks, the same recalcitrance, and the same arrogance."

"I had heard that James was very good at Quidditch," Rose said carefully. "But I was not acquainted with the other qualities which you mention. I do hope that Harry behaves himself in class?" Her expression became teasing.

Snape made a contemptuous sound, and looked ready to release another string of invective towards Harry, but he stopped when he caught her eye. They had arrived at the carriage. Rose released Snape's arm, but he continued to hold her gaze for another moment. He looked thoughtful.

"I shall leave your nephew to your own judgement, Miss Evans. Good afternoon." Snape bowed, breaking their eye contact at last, and then said roughly, "You resemble your sisters a great deal." He looked briefly as if he wished to say more, and then turned on his heel and marched away toward the castle.

Rose stood at the entrance to the carriage for a little longer than necessary. She was gathering her thoughts. "My own judgement," she murmured. "Yes. Yes, it is time." And she climbed into the carriage to find a quill, a parchment, and Lis.


	5. Third Flower Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Subsoil

"I'm not saying she's a murderer. But you don't even know her." Ron pushed his hair out of his eyes and shrugged. "Madame Maxime could've put her up to this, for all we know."

Hermione looked at him in exasperation. "So you think Harry's aunt is asking him to tea so she can injure him before the second Triwizard task? Not everything is about _sports_ , Ronald!"

"I'm just saying, Harry, keep an eye on your tea." Ron touched the side of his nose with his finger.

Harry was silent. It had struck him as oddly formal, receiving a written invitation to tea with his aunt. Still, she seemed a more formal person than say, Hagrid, or even Professor Lupin. His curiosity would not allow him to refuse, though his gut seemed to simmer uneasily as he wondered what they would talk about.

"She probably just wants to give you some support or some help, Harry," Hermione suggested. "She did seem concerned about you when she spoke to us before."

"Yeah, well," Harry said as he reached the portrait hole and waited for it to swing open, "I'm not really short on people offering to help me. I've got Moody offering me help every time he sees me, and Ludo Bagman. And you, Hermione," he added, gratefully, and she smiled.

"Tell us everything, Harry!" Hermione said, lifting a hand in farewell.

Harry's thoughts were bewildered, and his feeling of nervousness grew as he approached the carriage in the December twilight. At the same time, he wondered why he should be nervous. Rose Evans hadn't seemed like someone to be afraid of. He should be happy, he thought, to have found a relative who actually liked him. She did seem to be on his side, anyway. Harry smiled, thinking of the half a dozen **Potter Stinks!** badges that had mysteriously stopped working after encounters with Rose. _I should feel like I did when I met Sirius_ , he reasoned with himself. _Why isn't it like that now?_ He pressed these thoughts to the back of his mind as he knocked on the carriage door.

" _Entrere,"_ a voice said from inside the lit window. Harry opened the unlocked door and let himself in. He found himself in a kind of foyer, well lit with lamps and lined with powder blue velvet, the size of which at once revealed that this carriage had received the same sort of enchantment that their World Cup tent had received.

A tall, thin young man in the blue robes which Beauxbatons students wore stood up from the velvet-covered chair on which he'd been sitting. "Good aff-ernoon. I am Alexandre. I shall escort you to Mademoiselle Evans."

"Er, _merci,_ " Harry said awkwardly. He hoped he wouldn't be expected to speak any more French, as he had nearly exhausted the French words that he knew with that one utterance. But Alexandre just smiled and led him up an impossibly tall staircase, given the apparent size of the carriage, and down a hall to an open door.

" _Entrere, Monsiur Caron, et merci,"_ came the voice of Rose Evans from inside. " _Vous pouvez retourner dans votre salon."_ Alexandre bowed and left.

Rose met Harry at the door and shook his hand warmly. "Harry, thank you so much for coming."

"Oh, sure, you're welcome. The, uh, the carriage is nice," Harry observed as he stepped into a small, bright room furnished in the same blue velvet as the foyer.

"I hope you're comfortable. Please, sit!" she indicated a small, soft looking chair on the same side of the room as the door. He took it, glancing around at the desk by the window, and the bed in the corner. The room seemed to serve as Rose's bedroom as well as her office. It was very neat, but there was a hairbrush on the nightstand, and blue slippers before a dark wood wardrobe in the corner. Rose took the seat behind the table, closest to the bed. She gracefully poured tea into two cups, and looked up at Harry. "How do you take your tea?"

"Oh. With milk, and one sugar. Thanks." Harry watched as she prepared his cup, thinking of Ron's dark warning.

Rose passed him his cup and saucer, smiling encouragingly. "Please take some biscuits! There are _macarons_ , and chocolate biscuits, and some _brioche_ there on the end. I do love chocolate."

"Thanks," Harry said again awkwardly. He sipped his tea and put it down.

For something to do, he bit into a biscuit, just as Rose said, "You're a wonderful flyer, Harry! I couldn't take my eyes off you during your Triwizard task. You flew circles around that Horntail's head! James would be so proud; I'm sure you know all about his Quidditch days."

Harry almost choked on his biscuit in his effort to reply. "Oh, yes, well, I found out about him after I got to Hogwarts. And Sir- other people have told me."

Rose seemed to take a moment to consider his slip. She lowered her eyes, and sipped her tea before she responded, "It was a remarkable sight. Mind you, I was more than a sight relieved to see you safely on the ground again." She paused and looked at her teacup again before saying nonchalantly, "Your broom is a Firebolt? It is beautiful. And top of the line, they say. Did Petunia and Vernon buy it for you?"

Harry let out an involuntary sarcastic snort. "No, they didn't. I think the most valuable gift they've ever given me was that half-used eraser at Christmas when I was ten. No, my Firebolt came from- someone else."

"I see." Rose seemed to be mulling over his words. She drew a long breath, and then leaned forward. "Harry, I have been getting the impression that your time at Vernon and Petunia Dursley's home has been . . . unpleasant."

"You could say that, yeah," Harry muttered. There was a momentary silence before he asked, "So, you've been in France, then, all this time?"

"Yes, and elsewhere," Rose responded. "I've had to travel a lot for my work with the French Ministry. I work for the office that's equivalent to your Department of International Magical Cooperation. I have been to Egypt, and South Africa, and Switzerland, and other places. To America, several times. But yes, I went to school at Beauxbatons. They thought it'd be safer for me there, since Voldemort- since he started hunting your parents. Hunting you."

She took a deep breath, and continued. "I've always been mad about French, though. I expect Petunia's told you about my infatuation with Paris and travel and everything?"

"Actually, no." Harry felt it was time for honesty. "Until this year, I didn't know she had another sister, that I had an aunt." He laughed nervously. "Well, that is, if you don't count Aunt Marge. I don't."

For the first time, Rose's serene politeness broke. She looked shocked for a moment, before recovering somewhat and saying with a little smile, "But Harry, who on earth did you think was sending you all those gifts? Father Christmas?"

Harry looked at her blankly. "Gifts? I don't think . . . no, I've never gotten a gift at the Dursleys'. Did you send gifts there?"

Rose was apparently undergoing some painful internal process. "My gifts . . . the birthday and Christmas gifts, the robot, the little boat, the wildlife book, you never received them? The stuffed rabbit?" she asked, almost pleadingly.

Harry could only shake his head. "No, I didn't get anything like that. Although," he said after a moment's consideration, "I do remember Dudley getting a beeping robot one year. He broke it in about a day, though."

Rose stood up and walked to her window. Her hands were shaking, and Harry grew uncomfortable. She whispered, " _Petunia._ Oh, Petunia, what have you done?" and then she turned and her eyes refocused on Harry's. She smiled sadly. "My letter. You didn't see it, did you? Did you write me that you didn't want to come see me in Paris when you were eight?"

"Definitely not," said Harry. "I wouldn't have turned down a trip to Paris! But I never saw a letter at the Dursley's until I got my Hogwarts one, and Hagrid had to bring me that." Bitterly, he added, "She'll have taken them, or Vernon will have done. They took my Hogwarts letters when they arrived, too. They did everything they could to try to keep me from knowing about magic."

"But I was sure to send everything by Muggle post!" Rose cried, sounding rather anguished now. "I was sure that if I sent Muggle gifts, by Muggle post, she'd accept them. I knew she wouldn't let anything delivered by an owl into her house."

"Yeah, the Dursleys hate owls," Harry agreed. They sat in silence for a moment, each digesting the realization separately. Then Rose spoke, haltingly.

"Petunia practically raised me, Harry. When I was little, she did everything for me. She fixed me my favorite snacks, she combed my hair, she took me to ballet, everything. Our parents said she was spoiling me, but I loved her. I loved your mother too," she clarified, "but Petunia was around more when I was little, and she was like a second mother to me.

"When I started doing magic, it broke her heart. It was Lily all over again, and she hardly ever came to see me after she knew I was a witch. When your parents were killed, Professor Dumbledore wrote me a letter I still keep, to this day. He told me that I couldn't raise you- I was only eleven, I was just a child- and that you would be safe at my sister's house. He had his reasons," she hesitated, "but I thought Petunia would be kind to you, to Lily's baby. I hoped, anyway."

Harry fidgeted with his biscuit. "She wasn't so bad- when I was little. But I started doing magic when I was about seven, and that was when she stopped getting in the way when Vernon was- dealing with me." He didn't want to see the face she was making so Harry looked at his tea instead.

"Oh, Harry." Her voice was stricken, but she seemed to realize that she was making him uncomfortable and quickly calmed her expression.

"I have been too sentimental," she said. "I have been respectful to Petunia, and I have been polite. I think I hoped that she would allow me to know her again someday, if I was careful not to offend her. I have given her space. I have been . . . a little sister. But I will not make that mistake again." Rose looked Harry fully in the eye now. "I do not know what I will do after this year at Hogwarts is over, but I promise you: you will never go another birthday or Christmas without a gift again. I will make sure of it."

Harry felt that she must expect him to show some gratitude at this pronouncement, but all he felt was wariness, and a sudden stroke of annoyance. His voice was rather stiff. "Thank you. But I have been getting birthday gifts, at least since I've been at school. Ron and Hermione send them to me."

Rose did not seem offended. In fact, she brightened as she said, "Yes, I've met them. They're lovely! How valuable they must be to you. I'm so glad they've been sending you gifts. Have you got an owl of your own?"

"Yes, a snowy. Her name is Hedwig. My aunt and uncle hate her. But, they've been letting me use her more, since. . . last year." Harry mentally reproached himself for once nearly mentioning Sirius once again. He took another biscuit to cover the awkwardness.

Suddenly, Rose stood up. "I want to show you something, Harry." She strode over to her desk, opened a drawer, and retrieved a worn-looking album which she brought to his side of the table and laid gently down before him. As she did so, a small yellowing envelope fell into Harry's lap. He picked up and handed it to her, but not before recognizing the slanting handwriting that had written Rose's name on the front.

"Thank you," Rose said, taking the letter from him and placing it on her desk before joining him at the table again. "That… is an old letter, from Professor Dumbledore, yes. I re-read it rather often. There, now, what do you think of that?"

Harry looked down at the album and his eyes widened. Before him, on the cover, his mother's face was smiling up at him. She was sitting on a sofa with a colorful crocheted blanket tucked into the back, and she was holding a baby with tufty black hair and a serious expression. As Harry gazed at the picture, though, the baby clapped its hands and laughed, presumably at something the person holding the camera was doing.

"I took that picture," Rose said fondly. "You loved to watch my stuffed rabbit appear. Here," and she opened the album to reveal two pictures, side by side. The first picture featured Harry crawling rapidly in pursuit of the back legs of a tabby cat. "That's Fat Lady. Lily said she named her for a portrait at Hogwarts? Are you familiar with this portrait?"

Harry laughed, enjoying the sensation of sharing a joke with his mother in this way. "Yes, she guards the entrance to Gryffindor Tower." His eyes moved to the other photo. He saw himself as a baby, again, sitting in the lap of a skinny blonde girl of about ten, whose green eyes were laughing into the camera. Harry looked up at Rose for confirmation.

"Yes. It's me. James took two like this. We put the other in your nursery. This was part of my campaign to fill the house with pictures of me so that you wouldn't forget me before I came home for the Christmas holidays. Only . . . I never came home." She smiled at him sadly.

Harry paged through photos, of himself with his father, laughing as he held Harry high above his head, of Lily and Rose, arms around each other, of his parents holding him on the same blanketed couch, and of his father tossing a snitch into the air and quickly grabbing it again, to the apparent frustration of the bushy-tailed Fat Lady. He stopped to gaze at one which showed James with his arm around a handsome, long-haired man, who was holding his baby self and grinning. Harry checked an exclamation by closing his mouth suddenly. He glanced at Rose to see if she had noticed.

Rose smiled. "That is Sirius Black. I was very fond of him, so much so that I never could bring myself to believe that he was guilty of the crimes which sent him to Azkaban. This may shock you, but when I heard that he had escaped last year, I could only think, 'Good for Sirius.' Are you shocked?"

Harry shook his head. "I think- well, I think he's probably all right. I mean, maybe it was a mistake."

Rose looked at him curiously, and continued. "Sirius took me to Diagon Alley on the day I got my wand. He danced with me at your parents' wedding. In Professor Dumbledore's letter," she motioned to her desk where the letter lay in its envelope, "He told me that 'war can make us all unknowable,' but I felt that I knew Sirius. I wonder where he is now." Her eyes moved to her window, as if she might catch a glimpse of Sirius skulking around outside the Beauxbatons carriage.

"Thank you for showing me these," said Harry, closing the album carefully. "Did you visit my parents often, then?"

Rose shook her head. "I forget how much you don't know. I lived with your parents for over a year. Our parents, your grandparents, were killed in a car crash just before I turned ten, you see, and Petunia hadn't spoken to me in a year or more, at that point. So they took me in. They were so generous, your parents. They enrolled me in school, in ballet, they did everything to try to make me happy while I was with them. I loved that year." She signed reminiscently.

"A car crash," Harry mused. "Aunt Petunia used to tell me my parents died in a car crash. That's where she said I got my scar."

Rose's eyes glinted, but she said nothing for several moments. Then she said, "What would you think if I paid you a visit this summer, Harry? Do you have any plans for your birthday?"

Harry chuckled. "Mainly I try to stay out of everyone's way at the Dursleys; my birthdays are better that way. But I doubt they'd be happy about you coming round-"

"I don't really care what _their_ preferences are, actually. If you want me to visit, I will visit. I will hex them. I don't care-" and she stood again, turned away, and took a breath before talking in the direction of the window, "I shall simply write to Petunia that I am paying you a visit on your birthday. I shall tell her, she may choose not to speak to me, and she may choose to keep her own son away from me, but I do not recognize her authority to keep me from seeing you."

Rose turned around to face him then. "I will try my best not to make them upset with you. Perhaps it would be best if we left the house for a while? Shall I take you away somewhere, London, perhaps?"

"Anywhere," was all Harry's answer, and Rose laughed ruefully.

"I suppose you will have to get back to the castle for dinner," she said, suddenly brisk. "Here," and she turned the pages of the album, gently removed the picture of Harry with has parents on the sofa, and one of the pictures in which 10-year-old Rose herself waved, and handed them to him. "I don't expect you have many pictures. Perhaps you will like to have them?"

Harry took them gratefully. "Thanks. They're really great. Thanks." He looked up at her and smiled, wishing he hadn't spoken so stiffly to her before about the birthday gifts. "So, what . . . what should I call you?"

"That can be up to you. Rose, for now. 'Aunt Rose' when I've earned it, how about that?" She smiled again as they both stood up. "Good night, Harry. I will see you in the castle. Are you attending the Yule Ball? I suppose you must, as school champion."

"Don't remind me," Harry groaned. "I've still got to find someone to go with me."

"But surely that can't be hard!" Rose looked amused. "I would think girls would be queuing across corridors for a chance to open the ball with a school champion. How many girls have you asked?"

Harry flushed. "Just one. She's already got somebody to go with, though."

"Ah, that's a pity. But ask another! Nothing ventured, you know!" she leaned over and patted his shoulder. "Good luck."

"Yeah, thanks." Harry turned to go, and then stopped. On impulse he turned around again. "Sirius Black was innocent. I met him last year. It was Peter Pettigrew that killed those Muggles, and betrayed my parents too, as it turned out. The Ministry doesn't know. Sirius is on the run now, he writes me letters. He was the one that sent me my Firebolt." Harry wasn't sure what had made him do it, and he knew a moment of panic that perhaps his confidence was premature.

But Rose was gazing at him with tears forming in her eyes. Harry looked down uncomfortably. "I knew it," she breathed. After a moment in which she brought her hand to her eyes, and then back down, she said calmly, "Thank you for telling me, Harry. You have given me a valuable gift. Why don't you send him my greetings in your next letter? Tell him that Mademoiselle has missed him. He'll understand," she assured him.

"Right. I will. Well, goodnight, R-Rose."

"Goodnight, Harry. I'll see you soon, I'm sure."

Harry smiled one more time, and then backed out of the velvet covered room, the two pictures of his family clutched in his hand.


	6. Third Flower Chapter 7

Chapter 7: A Fresh Blossom

Ron was glowering again. He sat well away from the dancers, next to a very pretty dark-haired girl in turquoise robes, who looked sullen at the lack of attention she was receiving. _He seems a moody fellow_ , Rose thought to herself, as she watched him over her punch. _But very loyal to Harry, which I must admire._ Rose smoothed the dark green silk of her ball gown and turned back to Madame Maxime. The headmistress had finished her dance with Professor Dumbledore and was fanning herself with a fan the size of a sofa cushion.

Rose inquired of her, " _Le professeur Dumbledore est un danseur élégant, n'est-ce pas, Madame?"_

" _Oui en effet!"_ Madame Maxime agreed. " _Je ne sais pas comment il gère ça, à son âge."_ Turning to a nearby student, she requested a glass of punch and the student hurried off without a pause.

"Surely you mean to dance, Miss Evans! Might I be honored with a waltz?" Professor Dumbledore seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Rose was delighted. "Of course, Professor! How lovely! But I fear you will make me look clumsy in comparison!" she said gaily. Rose had always loved dancing, so it was no such matter. They were soon attracting both amused and admiring looks from students and teachers alike as they waltzed nimbly around the dance floor. She had begun to remember how much she enjoyed Professor Dumbledore's company.

"I trust that you are having a comfortable stay, Miss Evans?"

"Oh yes! I have enjoyed getting to know Hogwarts," she replied honestly. "And I did not expect to find Scotland so beautiful. The castle has been very accommodating, thank you."

"I am glad to hear it," he replied as they took a sudden whirl passed Pomona Sprout and Severus Snape, who were standing against the wall. "And you have made Harry's acquaintance, I hear? That is splendid."

"I have, yes. I have made plans to visit him this summer." Rose had no intention of opening a conversation about Harry's home life this evening, but all the same, she watched his face carefully as he responded. _It all comes to this_ , she had decided in the days following her conversation with Harry. _How much does Dumbledore know about what goes on at the Dursleys'? I shall know how much there is to blame him for, if I can learn that._

"Indeed? How charming! I am sure Petunia will be delighted to see you again," he said seriously, though his eyes twinkled roguishly.

"I am sure she will be anything but delighted, but I intend to visit Harry nonetheless," Rose answered, lifting her chin.

"I would like to see the person who could stop you," Dumbledore replied, and Rose smiled as he turned her under his arm in perfect time with the music.

When they had separated, after a courtly bow from Dumbledore (she did love his old- fashioned manners), Rose stepped over to the punch table. There she met Ron, who was pouring punch with what looked like deliberate slowness.

"Are you enjoying the ball, Ron?" Rose asked gaily. He jumped, spilled the punch, and caught himself just before uttering a curse word. Rose silently cleaned the floor with a point of her wand. "I'm sorry to have startled you."

"It's all right," Ron muttered, red-faced. "And you did my dress robes a favor; they smell better now."

"It looks as if you've inherited them from... someone else," Rose observed. "They are of a lovely old style. But perhaps you would have preferred something more modern?"

"I think someone in my family was buried in them at some point," Ron agreed. "I'm not keen on dress robes in general, but these ones are actively trying to assassinate me."

Rose laughed. "Well, let's see, perhaps something can be done. Step over here with me."

He frowned, but followed her to the window. Rose said, "Supposing we scourgify them very quickly, and then, would you like me to fix your hems?" She was eyeing his botched Severing Charm with sympathy.

Ron acceded gladly to these suggestions, and walked away from her a minute later smelling better, with neat hems, and an expression that was a shade more cheerful. Rose accepted a dance, then, with one of her young students, a boy whom she often caught gazing at her, slack-jawed, during lessons. He wasn't a bad dancer, though she was grateful when the dance was concluded and she had an opportunity to look around the room for Harry. He was sitting down with Ron, both of them looking equally glum. Their dates had joined the throng of enthusiastic students on the dance floor, but the boys did not seem inclined to move. Rose sighed pityingly, and then caught a glimpse of Hermione and Viktor Krum, dancing with energy. Rose hadn't seen Hermione smile so widely, or look so pretty, before. She glanced back at Harry and Ron, still morose on their chairs, and thought, _Oh dear, I wonder which one of them fancies her?_ Rose was pondering this when her eyes fell on Severus Snape, still looking bored and standing with his back to the wall. On a whim, she approached him and smiled pleasantly.

"Good evening, Severus. Don't you dance?"

"Not if I can avoid it," came his toneless response.

"Ah, what a pity. I am sure you're a charming dancer." She watched his face, but it betrayed no response to this suggestion. His eyes briefly flickered to hers, and then returned to the students in the center of the room.

"Isn't it delightful to watch them at their ease, enjoying themselves, and being young?" Rose asked lightly. "I have only just begun to teach, but I sometimes find I am tired of being the person around whom they must be serious and behave all of the time. But you don't mind that, I am guessing?" she asked, crinkling her eyes up at him. She found his utterly adamant demeanor intriguing, _like a challenge_ , she thought.

"No," he responded evenly, "That is not the objection I would think to make about teaching."

"What is your objection, then?" Rose asked. "I admit myself to have a great advantage in teaching, since I am only teaching seventh years, and prospective school champions at that. Are the younger students very unruly?"

"Not in my class," Severus replied, a bite to his voice. After a moment, he added, "But when you have been teaching for a while longer, Miss Evans, you will understand that most students do not come to class to learn. They come to class to show off for one another, or one-up each other, or to earn just a few more points in their endless social games with one another. Very few are true scholars, and even fewer show any talent whatsoever."

"What about that Miss Granger?" Rose motioned to where Hermione was swaying in Viktor Krum's arms. "She seems an eager learner, capable, and intelligent as well."

Snape laughed derisively. "She is quite _capable_ of memorizing portions of the textbook to parrot in the classroom. Her genius ends where the words in her textbook do. No, Miss Granger comes to class to show off, pure and simple."

Rose raised her eyebrows. "How very cynical. Is it possible, Severus, that students' motivations aren't one thing or the other? That they, like all of us, can often have mixed motives for their actions?" She had a small smile on her face.

Snape's eyes met hers again, and lingered longer this time. "It seems you will not stop talking nonsense until you have what you came for," he said in his even monotone.

"And what is that?"

"A dance," he said shortly, suddenly extending his arm. Rose thought that if it were possible for someone to extend his arm sarcastically, he would have done so. Nevertheless, she took it, and they glided off together as the orchestra began a measured tune.

Ron and Harry hadn't moved in almost 20 minutes. Padma and Parvati had long since left them to their bad tempers and found dance partners. Harry shifted to keep his legs from falling asleep, and looked over at Ron to see if Ron showed any inclination to dance, or get punch, or stretch his legs, or do anything but glower at Hermione from across the dance floor. He didn't.

Harry sighed and continued to watch the dancers gloomily. But then something entered his vision which caused his jaw to drop. He elbowed Ron, who spat, "WHAT?" and then joined Harry in gawking.

"I don't believe it. I don't . . . believe…." he leaned forward abruptly. Words had failed him utterly. After gaping like a fish for a few seconds, he made a kind of squeak, and then managed to gasp out, "Snape. Snape is.. . . "

"Dancing," Harry finished. "Yeah, I know. And with Rose Evans. This can't be real," he said, hastily cleaning his glasses and then replacing them on his face. But when he looked through them again there they still were, stepping gracefully together in time to the music, Rose's emerald dress swishing in contrast to Snape's usual black robes. From time to time, he would see her say something to him, and while Snape's expression never varied from neutral, he also did not display his usual sneer when he responded.

Ron had begun to recover from his shock and asked, weakly, "What is THAT?" Harry shook his head, disbelieving.

"It's a Foxtrot," came Hermione's voice from behind them. "A very good one. I can't believe it either. Of all the people to be able to Foxtrot perfectly-" She sat down in Parvati's vacant chair and fanned herself with her hand. "It's hot, isn't it?"

After the conclusion of their dance, Snape nodded his upper body slightly in a sort of bow, and then walked away without a word. He joined Professor Dumbledore at a side door to the Hall and they two of them walked out together in the direction of the rose garden. Rose, flushed but pleased to have inspired such an unlikely dancer onto the floor, retreated to talk the matter over with Madam Maxime and a few of the Beauxbatons girls. All seemed very intrigued as to what could have prompted Rose to seek the company of such an ugly and unpleasant looking man as Severus Snape. Rose explained that they shared a hometown, implying that they had known each other as children. They had not, but Rose felt this detail would make her interactions with Snape more comprehensible to her fellow students. " _En outre, il était un ami de ma soeur_ ," she added, a detail which satisfied her listeners completely. All knew that Rose had loved an older sister who had died, though few were aware that she had a second, living sister. The girls then begin a lively debate as to whether they, too, would dance with such an ugly man if he, too, turned out to be such an elegant dancer.

Rose allowed her eyes to roam over the Hall, looking for Harry. She spotted him and Ron easily, at the same table where they'd been all night, though now in conversation with both Ludo Bagman and a lanky, red-haired boy who looked as if he'd only recently left school. Her eyes roved further; she was comfortably aware of the effect of her third glass of punch. She resolved to drink some water at the next opportunity. Then her eyes fell on Hermione, striding briskly away from Harry and Ron, looking stormy. Hermione's eyes fell on Viktor, who was near the punch bowl with two glasses of punch in his hands and scanning the room, apparently looking for her. Hermione distinctly saw Viktor, and then edged around a knot of Hogwarts boys and made her way to an alcove on the other side of the room. Rose saw her wipe her face with her hands. She glanced back toward Harry and Ron and saw that Ron had followed Hermione's progress across the room and was holding her in his gaze still. Harry, on the other hand, was politely listening to the red-haired young man hold forth about something at great length. _It's Ron_ , _then,_ she decided, answering her own earlier question.

"Excuse me, young lady, but you're a fine dancer. May I have the pleasure of a dance?" Ludo Bagman, his boyish face shining with sweat, had approached then and was beaming at Rose.

"You know, I would, Mr Bagman, but I'm quite tired, and I've just seen someone I _must_ speak to before I turn in." She added, devilishly, "Madame Maxime has only danced two dances. May I suggest that you ask her?" and she inclined her head and walked away toward Hermione, leaving Ludo to stammer out his response to the giggling Beauxbatons girls behind her.

Rose found Hermione flushed and furious looking, with angry tears still in her eyes. "What is this, Miss Granger?" she asked in concern. "Who has upset you? I shall hex him, whoever he is!"

Hermione smiled at this declaration. "I'm just being silly. I needed a moment of quiet."

"Has my nephew said something rude to you? Do I need to tell him off?" Rose offered, though she knew Hermione's answer before she gave it.

"Oh no, it's not Harry. Harry's lovely. No, it's just- Ron." she spat his name resentfully. "He's determined to have a horrible time tonight, and he seems just as determined to make me have a horrible time too."

"Oh dear," Rose sighed. "Has he told you what's bothering him, or is he just being generally spiteful?"

"Only that he thinks my going to the Ball with Viktor is putting Harry in danger, like Viktor's just using me to get at Harry. He actually accused me of, how did he put it?" She drew sarcastic marks in the air as she said, "fraternizing with the enemy." Hermione snorted in derision.

Rose looked compassionate. "Oh, Hermione- may I call you Hermione?" at Hermione's nod, she continued, "Sometimes young men of this age have a hard time saying what they mean. They're embarrassed about absolutely everything, so they say any mad thing to avoid being straightforward with girls."

"But how am I supposed to figure out what he really means?" Hermione was suddenly earnest. She sniffed, and put her hands to her hair to smooth back some pieces which had fallen out of her elegant coif.

Rose shook her head sadly. "You can't, unfortunately. You can drive yourself mad in guessing, but really, he will have to make up his mind to tell you the truth. Ron may not fully understand, himself, what is bothering him. All you can do is decide what you want to remember about tonight. Do you want to remember that Ron ruined your Yule Ball, or that you had a marvelous time with your date and that you looked radiant? Because you do." Rose smiled and patted Hermione's slim shoulder. Hermione gave her a watery smile.

"Thank you. You're right, of course. I'd better find Viktor. Thank you. _Bonsoir,"_ she finished, carefully.

" _Bonsoir, mon cher,"_ Rose said fondly. "Chin up."

When she looked around again, Harry and Ron had gone. Rose made the rounds of her students, straightening a corsage here, mending a broken heel there, and offering advice where needed to distraught students crossed in love. She was tired, however, and she was relieved when Madame Maxime gave the order to return to the carriage for bed.

On their way to the carriage, Rose and Maxime passed Professor Dumbledore and Severus Snape in the Rose Garden, making a final round. Rose called, "Good evening, Professors!" as they passed, and Dumbledore returned the greeting cheerfully. Rose caught Severus' eye, then, and she could have sworn the very edge of his lip curved up in to something which, if allowed to advance, could have become a smile.


	7. Third Flower Chapter 8

Chapter 8: In the Wilds

The Beauxbatons students were coming to the end of their patience with Scotland. By this time, many of them were complaining, the gardens at Beauxbatons would be in bloom, and the days would be mild and pleasant. Through the windows of the Great Hall on that Friday in mid March, however, they could clearly see a gray, turbulent sky, slashed with rain and thrumming with wind. How could they be expected to remain in this miserable place for two months more? Rose listened to their complaints patiently. In her mind, however, she was pondering the end of the year, and the end of her assignment, which seemed much closer to her than it did to her shivering students.

What would she do? If she was honest with herself, Rose realized, she had come to hope that something would happen which would give her a reason to stay in England. It was not that her work at the Ministère had lost any appeal to her, or that she had come to any particular love of the Scottish countryside or of England. But she found, now that she had come to know Harry, and had received the dark, if vague, impressions of his life with her sister, Rose felt an urgent desire to stay at close range. She knew that she would most likely not be allowed to invite Harry to live with her. Dumbledore had made it clear that the charm which kept Harry safe when he was not at school had been set, irrevocably, at Petunia's home. But she still felt certain that if she was near enough, she could find a way to protect him. When she thought for any length of time about Petunia, and especially about Vernon, it prompted her to begin mentally cataloging her favorite hexes.

And yet, this inclination did not seem enough to cause her to leave her career, in favor of— what? An equivalent position at the British Ministry would involve just as much travel. She supposed she could arrange for frequent visits to Surrey, but this did not seem adequate to the need she sensed in Harry's careful words, and even more strongly in his silence. On the other hand, Harry himself had not expressed any opinion about her role in his life, one way or another. They were on friendly terms; he had even brought Ron and Hermione for tea in the Beauxbatons carriage after the second task the previous month. But he had given her no further reason to think she was important in any way to his happiness. _I must not allow a fourteen-year-old's awkwardness to frighten me away from my duty,_ she thought sternly to herself. _I have neglected it for far too long._ Still, she lacked the conviction to make a move toward leaving her position, or toward finding another. And despite the biting rain outside the castle, she knew that summer was approaching fast.

She was in a reverie of this nature, neglecting her dinner entirely, when she suddenly saw that Harry was in front of her. She blinked and smiled at him. "Hello, Harry! I was just thinking about you."

"Hello, Rose. Er, may I have a word?" He gestured toward the Great Hall's doors.

"Certainly," she replied. She turned to Madame Maxime, who was at her side. " _Madame, il faut que je parle avec mon neveu. Je reviendrai dans un instant_."

She stood and followed Harry out of the Great Hall. They strolled into the covered portion of the courtyard before Harry stopped. He looked nervous, but pleased about something. After looking around to make sure that they were alone, he said, "Sirius is back in the country. He has been . . . for a while. And I wrote him, to tell him how the second task went, and he wanted the date for the next Hogsmeade visit. And I told him that you were here, and that you believe he's innocent. And he wrote back-" and here Harry took out a small, folded piece of parchment for Rose's perusal.

It simply said, _Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish and Banges) at two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can._

And below that message was a hasty scrawl, _Hello to Mademoiselle. If she wants to come-_

The note ended there. Rose frowned, and looked up at Harry. "He's in Hogsmeade?" she asked in a hushed voice. "Is he mad?"

"Well, a bit," Harry admitted. "He said he wanted to keep an eye on things. I expect," with a quick glance around again, "He'll be in his dog form."

"Of course!" Rose breathed. A smile began to play at her lips. "I knew what he could do, of course; they all explained it to me, him, and Mooney, and your father and Wormy. But I never actually saw it before."

"Do you want to see him now? Ron and Hermione and I are going to get some food from the kitchens tomorrow and meet him. Do you want to come with us?" Harry asked, speaking hurriedly.

Rose thought for the space of a breath, and then nodded. "I can be there. I will make my excuses to Madame Maxime. Shall I meet you in the town? Beauxbatons students will be going there as well, unless they decide they don't like the weather." She gave a short laugh, and said again, "I will be there, Harry. Thank you for telling me. It will be very good to see him again. Shall I meet you at Dervish and Banges?"

"Yes, at a bit before two, if that's all right." Harry ran his fingers through his hair and Rose was reminded forcibly of James. "I just hope we're not followed."

"I'll be careful," Rose assured him. "I'll tell Madame I am having a picnic with my nephew."

He nodded and said, "Well. I'll see you, then."

Rose returned to her dinner and found, abruptly, that her appetite had returned in full force.

Late at night, however, she lay wakeful in her chamber, cradling her photo book with a knot in her stomach. She was going to see Sirius Black again! Rose remembered the way she had felt when he came to Godric's Hollow to collect her on the day that she got her wand. She had been so surpassingly happy on that day. But what sort of person would he be now? _Thirteen years changes a person_ , she thought ruefully. _Just look at me_. And if Sirius had spent the bulk of the time in Azkaban, would he be anything like she remembered? She gazed at his smiling face in the picture. _When I saw him last, I was a child. When I saw him last, he was innocent and full of fun. What have the years made of Padfoot?_ She continued to wonder until long after she turned out her lamp and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

To the Beauxbatons students' disbelief, the next day dawned clear and, if not warm, with a partially filtered sunshine that was quite pleasant. Rose accompanied a large crowd of blue-robed students to Hogsmeade, many of them still shivering but most looking cheerful. They did not actually need her, of course. All the students who had come from Beauxbatons as potential school champions were over age. But they were fond of their young teacher, "Mademoiselle Anglaise," as they called her teasingly, and so she laughed with them at Zonko's, exclaimed with them over the sweets at Honeyduke's, and dined with a small table of students at Madam Puddifoot's. And if she bought an array of extra scones, and if she asked the tea girl for extra tea to fill the tankard she had brought, no one thought anything of it. All knew that she planned to picnic with her long-lost nephew that afternoon. Several of the girls sighed that it was sweet, to be spending an afternoon with her poor orphan relation, though several expressed concern for her clothing in this rough Scottish wilderness. Rose only laughed, and at half past one, waved to her students and made her way toward Dervish and Banges, carrying the tankard and the box of scones.

She found Harry and his friends in a small knot outside the shop, talking in undertones to each other, as they so often did. Ron was acting much friendlier to Rose since she had mended his dress robes at the Yule Ball. He waved cheerfully, and volunteered to carry the tea tankard with his free hand. They strolled through the heather under an increasingly sunny sky, and Rose felt her heart lift as they walked. It was spring at last, she was with Harry, and she was about to see Padfoot again.

Rose laughed when she saw the eager-looking dog with its paws on the top bar of the stile. They clambered over the stile as the dog frisked, sniffing Harry's bag of chicken with apparent delight. It approached Rose more cautiously, gave her one curious sniff, and then turned and led them up the path. They walked quickly and silently to the opening of the cave, and one after another, they squeezed into it. Rose required a yank from Harry to get all the way in, as she was less narrow than the three teenagers or the bony-looking dog. When her eyes adjusted, though, Rose saw that he was no longer a dog. Sirius Black sat before them, looking dirty, gaunt, and haggard. Only with difficulty did Rose find a resemblance to the smiling young man from her photo album; he looked as if he had lived a lifetime of grief and struggle since Godric's Hollow.

"Hello, Sirius," she said quietly, after the others gave their greetings. He just looked at her for a moment, his face a blank, and then he gave a rasping, " _Bonjour, Mademoiselle_ ," and a very small smile.

Sirius ate the chicken, bread, and scones ravenously while Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked over each other about the Triwizard Tournament, the disappearance of Bartemius Crouch, and gillyweed. Rose found a dry-looking rock and sat on it, silently gazing at Sirius as they talked. Sirius' tone was full of his accustomed humor and energy as he spoke to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The three of them discussed events that Rose had known nothing about: the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, Mr. Crouch's son's imprisonment in Azkaban, and something about a house-elf called Winky. They talked for a long time, almost two hours, during which time Rose learned a great deal. She had been a child during the last wizarding war, and it had concluded while she was at school. Now, she shuddered when Sirius described the deaths and disappearances, the torture, the fear . . . that was what had put Lily and James in hiding, that they fought against this menace and refused to be cowed by it. That was what had killed them, too. But when she looked at Harry, after Sirius described Barty Crouch's son going to Azkaban, she saw a fighting fire in his face that moved her deeply.

Rose met Sirius' eyes as he spoke about the Dementors bringing Crouch in. "He went quiet after a few days, though . . . they all went quiet in the end . . . except when they shrieked in their sleep." He went quiet for about a minute, gazing at Rose with a dead look in his eye. Rose felt compassion and grief rise up from her chest into her head, filling her eyes with tears. She blinked them away hurriedly as Sirius resumed the conversation. She recalled then her childish desire to come back to England as a woman to win Sirius his freedom with some rousing speech full of impressive legal knowledge that she would have acquired. She had grown up, all right, to find the world not so simple as she had imagined at age 11. _And yet, what did I do? How did I fight? I did nothing. I took Professor Dumbledore's encouragement to study hard as license to abandon Harry and Sirius both._ She felt shame now, mixing with the grief for Sirius. _Can I still do them any good? I must at least try._

Rose returned to the present when Sirius asked the time. "It's half past three," Hermione answered. They had to return to the school; they were in danger of overstaying their curfew. Rose stood up thoughtfully as they prepared to leave.

"Aren't you coming?" Harry asked as he made to squeeze out through the narrow cave opening, after Ron.

"I don't have a curfew," Rose said calmly. "I think I will stay a while and catch up with an old friend." Harry nodded and waved as he exited the cave.

"An old friend," Sirius said softly. "Mademoiselle, you have grown up."

"I have," Rose observed. They said nothing for a few moments, but merely looked at one another until Rose cleared her throat. "I had so much sorrow when I heard what had happened to you, Sirius. Even before I knew you were innocent, I thought you must be." She laughed a bit dryly. "Do you know, I had grand plans when I was eleven to come sweeping back to England and demand your release. And now, to know they didn't even give you a trial-" she broke off and went silent.

"Yes, well, you seem to have made out well. The years have been kind to Rose Evans! You look quite the fashion plate. How do you manage that on a teacher's salary?"

"Oh," Rose said uncomfortably, "I haven't been a teacher until this year. I took a job after I finished school with the French Ministry, in the International Magical Cooperation Department. I have traveled quite a bit. I was representing the Ministère, you know, so I had to look smart." Self-consciously she smoothed her Chambray traveling robes in her lap.

"It seems you found what you wanted, then. You got your travel and your French and your fine things. Are you still doing ballet?" Sirius' tone seemed light, but Rose sensed tension beneath the question.

She tried to smile. "No, I had to stop. I was trying so hard to get good marks, you see, I hadn't time. I did, er, I did get good marks, though. Mr. Ollivander's wand was perfect for me after all." When he was silent, she added, "Do you remember the day you took me to get it? That day, when we went to Diagon Alley, was one of my happiest memories while I was at school."

"I remember," was all Sirius said.

He continued to gaze at her, _rather sternly_ , Rose thought. _I suppose someone who escaped Azkaban just a year ago would not find it easy to be cheerful._ Still, she felt chilled by his tone. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I have been so pleased to meet Harry at last! I have had him to tea twice. I find him to be very polite and friendly. And such a brilliant flyer! Of course, I never saw James fly, but I understand he takes after his father on a broom."

She was babbling, she knew she was, but she persisted. "And I know he downplayed it, but he really was heroic in the second task, rescuing Fleur Delacour's sister like that. I've spoken to him, and I know he feels foolish for having done it, but really, how could he have been sure that anyone would save her, if he didn't? Fleur certainly took the egg's clue seriously. She was hysterical, waiting for Gabrielle. I think a great deal of Harry already. I would feel proud, if I thought I could take any kind of credit for him." She sighed, and then added, "He looks exactly like James, doesn't he?"

"He _is_ exactly like James," Sirius said flatly.

Rose shook her head. "He is like Lily." When Sirius looked skeptical, she added, "James was so confident, so high-spirited. He was always laughing, in my memory. Harry is much more serious. I suppose," she considered after a second, "the difference might be in their upbringing, at least in part." She felt uncomfortable. "I wish I had had more to do with Harry's upbringing. I don't think it was a very happy one."

"I was wondering when you would get to that." Sirius growled, rather like his dog-self.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked, her stomach tightening.

Sirius got up and began to stride around the room. His face was stormy. "When you would get to an explanation as to where you were for thirteen years, while Harry was growing up with the most small-minded, cruel Muggles in Britain!"

Rose opened her mouth, and then closed it. "I was in France, Sirius," she said in a small voice.

Sirius threw out his arms and made an exasperated noise. "I am aware of where you were geographically, _Mademoiselle,"_ he said sarcastically.

Rose continued, "I was in school. I was no use to him without an education, Professor Dumbledore said. He wrote me. He said I could not take Harry; I was too young. He placed the charm on Petunia's house." Her voice was pleading, though a small kernel of irritation had appeared in the center of her mind.

"But you finished school six years ago!" Sirius was now speaking loudly. "You were a child when James and Lily were killed, I grant you. But you have not been a child for some time. What kept you from him when you were of age? You could have taken him in before he arrived at Hogwarts, well before. You wouldn't have been able to travel as much," he sneered, "I know you would not have been able keep up with your _French-_ "

"I wrote him and asked him to visit," Rose said quietly. "As soon as I had a flat of my own, as soon as I had income. I took the first job I was offered; I didn't know what else to do. Anyway, I got a letter back. It said he was traveling with his cousin, and he couldn't come, and I shouldn't visit because they wouldn't be home. Which was exactly what Petunia used to write me, when I'd ask her to stay," Rose said bitterly. "'We always travel at Christmas, and we couldn't possibly have guests,' she'd say. Harry says he didn't write it, never got it, never got any of my letters or my gifts. Petunia must have written for him. I'd never have believed it of her. I knew she was angry with me, for being a witch, but I never thought she'd mistreat a child, Lily's son-"

"You didn't bother to find out, though, did you?'' Sirius roared. Rose flinched as he closed the distance between them, but he merely squatted next to her and spoke, more quietly but with no less intensity. "You knew she hated magic and everything to do with it. Harry's told me a bit about what goes on in that house. I know he doesn't want to tell me everything. Afraid I'll expose myself to arrest trying to interfere, I imagine." He shook his head dismissively. "But I know enough. They had Harry under the stairs, Rose. They denied him meals, and I'm not convinced your sister's husband didn't take a hand to him sometimes. And you didn't make it your business to find out, to make damn sure Harry wasn't being mistreated, before you set off traveling the world? I'd have knocked down their DOOR if I'd been free!"

Sirius' eyes were burning in his lean face. He looked quite wild, but Rose returned his gaze and did not look away. "I didn't know, Sirius. I didn't know what to do. She's the only sister I have left. I knew she was angry with me, but I didn't- I didn't want her to hate me. I thought she'd invite me back someday, I think. I was foolish," she admitted.

Sirius frowned, and shook his head. "There comes a time when you have to be willing to break it off with some family," he insisted. "I broke it off with mine. They were proud bigots, and they treated me about the same as Harry's relatives have treated him. I'd be damned if it'd let a child live like that, be bullied and abused by his own family like that, if I could stop it."

"Sirius, I didn't know," Rose whispered. Her eyes were full of tears, now. Sirius looked at her for a long moment, before giving a curt nod and walking back to the other side of the cave.

Rose swallowed hard. She felt torn between a desire to leave the cave immediately, and an equally strong desire to stay with Sirius indefinitely. She watched him struggle to find a comfortable position to sit, and was suddenly fighting the urge to laugh. He looked exactly like a dog, circling around in his bed before lying down. When he looked up at her, however, her hint of a smile disappeared. She was struck then with how shabby and inadequate his robes were, and how bony and sallow he looked. A great tide of concern and sympathy was washing over her, drowning out the sting of his words.

"How have you been keeping yourself?" she asked, hesitantly.

He grimaced. "Not as well as I was in the tropics. It was easier to scrounge meals there. Here, well, I mostly eat as a dog. Rats, as I said. Spend most of my time as a dog, now, actually. It's just easier." He wrapped his arms around his knees and smiled wryly. "Warmer, too."

Rose pursed her lips. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she would get him some clothes, some blankets, or any creature comforts he wanted. But suspecting that such an offer would embarrass him, she refrained. Instead, she asked, "Harry seems fond of you. I understand the mere threat of you keeps Vernon Dursley almost entirely at bay, now. You have been free for more than a year, I hear?"

Sirius nodded. "Twenty glorious months," he agreed.

"So, when you escaped, you came straight to Hogwarts to find Harry?" Rose asked. "I'm so glad you did."

"I came to Hogwarts to kill Peter Pettigrew," Sirius replied, with a force that gave her a sudden shiver. "That he still lives galls me every day."

"Because he betrayed Lily and James?"

"Because he betrayed Lily and James," Sirius agreed. "And because he is now, as I understand it, Voldemort's little errand boy." He spat.

They sat in quiet for some time. Sirius gazed at a point on the cave floor about three feet ahead of him, but every so often his eyes would flicker up to Rose. Rose was lost in thought. Her mind roved over her memories of Peter Pettigrew, and of James and Lily laughing in Godric's Hollow, of Petunia, who was continuously receding away from her, and of her nephew's earnest face as he'd told her that Sirius was innocent. She felt that behind her reluctance to come back to England was fear, fear of disappointing people, and fear of more loss. _I really am a great coward,_ she thought, regretfully.

"What are you over there pondering, Mademoiselle?" Sirius asked, in a less harsh tone than he'd used before.

She laughed mirthlessly. "I was imagining that if I'd gone to Hogwarts, I probably would not have been sorted into Gryffindor. It would have been such a disappointment to James and Lily, too."

"Nah, they wouldn't've cared. I mean, okay, if you'd been sorted into Slytherin…" He trailed off, and she looked up. He was grinning.

"Can you be joking? James, not care which house I was in? I think I learned about Gryffindor house from him before I learned anything else about magic. I don't think he owned clothes that didn't have lions embroidered on them." She smiled back at him, and he cleared his throat rather awkwardly.

"So. How long will Beauxbatons have you stationed in England?" he asked casually, stretching out a bit more on the cave floor, not meeting her eyes.

"The position I have now is just for this year, for the Triwizard Tournament. However . . . I had thought of looking for a job in England. I don't know what I'd do, but I want to be within apparating distance of Harry, now that I know . . . now that I've met him. I have a long overdue visit to pay to my sister, at the very least." Rose shifted uncomfortably on her rock seat. Her legs were beginning to tingle from lack of movement. "What about you? Assuming Harry makes it through the Tournament all right, will you go back to the tropics? Harry seems to be afraid that you'll be caught if you stay in England too long." _And so am I,_ Rose added silently.

"I don't know. I really can't think beyond this third task, at the moment. I expect trouble. Harry's name was put in the Goblet of Fire for a purpose, and I don't think that purpose was the eternal glory of Gryffindor House. Of course, it could just be an effort by some Death Eater to murder him, but I don't think so. They didn't have to confund the Goblet to do that, that'd be too much trouble. Not that I'm saying the person who didn't doesn't want him dead, mind you," he clarified, "I just think there's more to it than that."

Rose nodded, and then looked at the angle of the light coming in through the cave's opening and withdrew her pocket watch. It was nearly supper time. She had told Harry the truth; she had no curfew. But she knew that missing the meal would require an excuse of some kind, and with Harry already returned to the castle, she knew she would be hard pressed to think of one.

"I really must return to the castle soon," Rose said, her eyes on the cave floor.

"Of course, of course. Go," Sirius waved her away with his hand.

"Can I do something for you?" She blurted out. "What can I bring you to make you comfortable here? I can bring you clothes, blankets. I can come back, in a few days. I will think of some story. What can I do for you, Paddy?"

Sirius' eyes registered the use of this name with an odd gleam. "What you can do for me," he said slowly, "is to keep a close eye on Harry. Especially when it comes time for the third task. Stick close to him for me, please. Because I think someone else is keeping an eye on him too, and whoever it is means him harm, mark me."

Rose nodded solemnly. "You have my word."

He stretched his thin arms above his head until his back made a _pop_. He sighed with pleasure, and then smiled ruefully. "Oh, and, you know, more food wouldn't hurt."

Rose laughed. "I will come back," she promised. "Look for my owl."

"You still have Lis?" Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"You remember!" Rose exclaimed. "Yes, she is getting on now, but she still has plenty of life in her." She got to her feet and walked over to Sirius, who also stood. She stretched out her hand to him, and he took it. They shook hands, and Rose said, "It is so good to have seen you."

"Yes. Well. You keep well, Mademoiselle." With an apparent effort, he smiled.

Rose's heart gave a lurch at the sight of it, and she leaned forward. "I will be back to see you, Paddy, and soon. I promise."

The following Thursday afternoon, Rose asked permission to leave the campus for the afternoon. She had no classes in the afternoon, for Madame Maxime herself taught Transfiguration to the 7th years who had come to Hogwarts. "I feel I want some time to myself, to do some exploring, or perhaps, some shopping," she had explained to Madame Maxime, who gave her warm consent to this request. "Of course, my dear, you have hardly taken any of your time off. Go to London! The shopping is really quite good, although it is nothing to Paris, of course."

Rose put on some of her Muggle trousers and a jacket, and packed fifteen galleons in her purse before she set off in the direction of Hogsmeade. She did, indeed, go shopping, however, before gathering her purchases and setting off for the edge of the village, watching the road behind her to be sure she was neither followed nor noticed.

Sirius was not waiting at the stile this time, although she had sent him an owl to inform him of her arrival. She remembered the way to his cave, however, and was soon pressing her face into the opening of the cave. "Sirius? Are you at home?"

There was a subtle creaking sound, as of bones stretching and muscles flexing, and then his voice croaked, "Come in."

She entered, but immediately turned and began to slide her purchases through the cave entrance, one at a time. Within a few minutes, Sirius was eating hungrily from the small cauldron of stew she had brought, watching as she took out the rest of the items she had brought. Rose first held out a large flannel blanket in red plaid. "This town could sell me no blankets that were not flannel or wool, and _plaid_ ," she said, wrinkling her nose in distaste, "But I suppose you will not mind."

"I will not," he promised, smiling at her expression.

Next, she opened the second box and held up two pairs of sturdy-looking wizard's robes, both, also, plaid. "I should have gone to London after all," she said, shaking her head.

But Sirius was beaming. "You're making me feel human again! But you shouldn't have gotten all this, the blanket was enough. I'm spending more time as a dog than a man, and no one sees me as a man."

"I can afford it," Rose promised. "I want you to feel human, Paddy. Go put them on! I can step out!"

When she re-entered the cave, Sirius was sitting comfortably on his blanket, looking fresh and very nearly handsome in his clean new robes. He beckoned for her to some and sit, and she did so, perching cautiously on the other end of the blanket. "So," Sirius began, "How is that rascal of a nephew of yours behaving in school?" Stiffly at first, but with more and more comfort, they began to talk. They discussed, in no particular order, The Ministry of Magic, house-elves, Harry, quidditch, and the Yule Ball.

"I heard," Sirius asked, with his eyebrow raised, "from a good authority that at the Yule Ball you danced with one _Severus Snape_. Is it true?"

"It is. He was an old friend of Lily's." She wondered what was making him look so odd. "He would have been in your year, then. Was he a friend of yours?"

This was too much for Sirius. His smirk became a guffaw, which brought forth another guffaw, and was soon followed by a stream of fluent laughter that made the cave ring.

Rose did not return to the castle until after sunset.


	8. Third Flower Chapter 9

**A.N.: Thank you so much for the reviews! I read every review, and every one makes my day. This story has been so fun to write, so I hope it continues to be fun to read.**

Chapter 9: Defense Mechanism

Rose was pacing the ground. She had tried to remain politely interested, had tried to stay neatly in her seat in the Beauxbatons section of the stands, but after a time even Madame Maxime urged her to leave her seat and get closer to the maze; her agitation was worrying the students. She had watched, with increasing discomposure, as first Fleur and then Krum had been brought out of the maze, both unsteady on their feet, but unhurt. But now, nearly two hours after Krum's return, there had yet been no sign of Cedric or Harry. _What is in there?_ She wondered yet again. _What creatures or obstacles or dangers could keep these two teenagers busy for this long_?She kept looking around toward the entrance to the maze for any movement or change. And still, there was none.

Cornelius Fudge did not seem worried. He chatted jovially with his colleagues, even laughing from time to time at remarks they made. Ludo Bagman remained chipper as ever. "In 1788, you know, that Ravenclaw lad didn't finish his task for three days! Lord, what a good show he made of it, too! Of course, his task sent him questing for a female Graphorn, so the tasks may not be comparable." He laughed again, his loud, bubbling laugh, which Rose was finding increasingly irritating. Albus Dumbledore continued to respond affably enough when people spoke to him, but whenever he was not being addressed he, like Rose, gazed fixedly on the entrance to the maze.

Rose stopped her pacing in front of Severus Snape, who was watching the maze with narrowed eyes. "What can have become of them, Severus?" she asked, trying to keep her voice conversational. He simply shook his head, continuing to scan the maze walls. Rose stood still next to him, trying to see what was holding his attention.

Within a few minutes, however, she spoke again. "At what point does the Ministry interfere? Go into the maze and see what's become of them?"

He met her eyes this time, and was just opening his mouth to speak, when a sudden burst of activity demanded both of their attention. On the grass, just feet from the opening to the maze, two figures had appeared, one supine, and one on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. Harry was shaking and and gripping the body of Cedric Diggory in one hand and the Triwizard Cup in another.

Rose could give no further thought to the appropriateness of her actions. She hurried over to the spot where they had appeared, though not as quickly as Albus Dumbledore. He moved with surprising agility for his age and was kneeling next to Harry in what seemed like an instant. Rose stood at their feet. Dumbledore was saying, "Harry. _Harry,_ " but Harry was not responding. He was bleeding, though from where and how seriously it was impossible to tell in the darkness. Rose looked then into the staring, blank face of Cedric Diggory, and horror gripped her. She was certain he was dead.

Harry gripped Dumbledore's wrist then, just as Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister for Magic, skidded to a stop next to them. Harry was whispering something to Dumbledore, but Fudge drowned it out with his breathless, "What's going on? What happened?" and then "My God- Diggory. Dumbledore- he's dead!" And then the commotion began and Rose knew she was not going to hear anything more from Harry. She fixed her eyes on him though, and saw him move enough to convince her that his injuries were not life-threatening.

Rose did not move, uncertain as to what role she should take, but she was unwilling to take her eyes from Harry until she saw Dumbledore lift him bodily and carry him in the direction of the castle. She followed at a distance, saw Dumbledore put Harry down at the end of the spectators' stands, and then turn and be engulfed by questioners. Cedric's parents went pelting past, and soon there were people covering every part of her vision. Rose felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Fleur, still looking weak from her ordeal in the maze, and now with shock and tears on her face. " _Que s'est-il passé_?" she demanded of Rose, " _Mlle Evans, est-il vrai que Diggory est mort_?" Rose explained what she had seen, all the while struggling for a view of Harry at the edge of the stands.

Soon other students were surrounding her, all wanting to hear what Rose knew. Rose satisfied them to the best of her ability, and then said, " _Excuse-moi, je dois trouver mon neveu,_ " and turned and walked directly into Madame Maxime. " _Excusez moi, madame!_ " she cried, and tried again to free herself and make her way to the place where she had last seen Harry.

But more and more and more bodies were now milling around in every direction. The stands had nearly emptied, as students swarmed the edge of the quidditch pitch, screaming, exclaiming, and calling out for one another. The chaos made Rose temporarily lose her sense of direction. Sometimes she would be thrust up against someone she knew, who would ask her insistently what had happened, what she had seen. Many in the crowd were unknown to her, students of Hogwarts or Durmstrang, or Ministry of Magic employees, or parents who were simply caught up in the crowd. Rose was jostled this way and that, until she could hardly remember where the stands or the pitch or the castle were.

Rose stopped as her panic reached a peak and closed her eyes. _I must think,_ she thought. _I can't lose sight of Harry. I promised Sirius._ She felt tears rising and almost instinctively called before her mind the image of the full moon. After two or three deep breaths, Rose opened her eyes. Her vision seemed clearer, now, and through a gap in the crowd she saw the edge of the stands, where she had last seen Harry. She abandoned politeness and pushed her way to the place. But though Rose could see Dumbledore, deep in conference with Professor McGonagall and Cornelius Fudge, she could not spot Harry anywhere.

Her mouth dry, Rose scanned the crowd until she spotted more familiar faces: Ron and Hermione were standing together in front of the Gryffindor stands. Hermione was gripping Ron's arm and looking terrified. Ron was looking wildly around him, _looking for Harry_ , Rose presumed. His face was pale. Rose pushed her way to them. "Ron! Hermione! Have you seen Harry?"

"We can't find him! I don't know where he's gone!" Hermione spoke through her tears, sounding panicked.

"We thought maybe you were taking him to the hospital wing," Ron told her.

Rose shook her head. "Dumbledore brought him over here, and then I was caught up in the crowd. Can Dumbledore realize that he's missing?"

Hermione looked uncertain. "I don't know, but he's got about fifty people waiting to talk to him. I don't think we'll stand a chance."

Rose glanced around, thinking fast. Searching for Harry in this crowd, in this darkness, seemed pointless. _Height,_ Rose thought. _I need to get some height_. And then her eyes fell on the brightly-colored towers which surrounded the quidditch pitch. _Perfect._ She looked back at Hermione and Ron.

"I don't know who has taken Harry away, but we can't trust anyone who would take him from Professor Dumbledore in the state he's in. I'm going to try to get some height to see if I can spot him. Can I get up that quidditch tower in the dark?"

"It's pretty narrow, but yeah, you should make it up if you're careful," Ron answered.

Rose nodded once, turned, and fought her way to the opening of the tower. The inside of the tower was like the inside of a lighthouse, only made of wood, not stone. There was no staircase, only a narrow wooden ladder, which Rose seized immediately and began to climb. It was slow going; her shoes were a stylish, heeled sort, not meant for climbing. But she kept her focus. After a fair amount of exertion and with the beginnings of blisters forming on her hands, Rose emerged at the top. She swung her legs over the barrier to the ladder and crouched, afraid to stand in the dark. She peered around her, scanning through the crowd, around what she could see of the maze, and over the castle grounds. For a few minutes, she searched, while her heart rate slowly returned to normal.

And then she saw them. Two shapes in the distance, one clearly leaning heavily on the other, were just entering the castle. Rose took a moment to consider what she should do. She could try to alert Professor Dumbledore- she could see him down below in conference with Cedric Diggory's weeping parents- or she could confer with Ron and Hermione... _or I could do what I should have done years ago_ , she thought: _allow nothing to keep me from looking out for Harry_.

In that moment, Rose knew clarity. The full moon seemed to shine in her mind, illuminating the steps of the ladder, the path before her, and her Beauxbatons dueling master's words in her memory: "Don't waste any time in disarming your opponent," he used to stress to them, "If you've seen their eyes twitch, you've waited too long. Seize your opportunity." Compared to the ascent, the descent from the tower seemed to take no time at all, and soon Rose hit the ground and was pushing her way out of the thinning crowd in the direction of the castle. When she got to the edge of the crowd, she broke into a run.

"He is back, Harry Potter, you did not conquer him- and now- I conquer you!"

Harry braced himself for a struggle, though he knew that it was useless. His wand was on the other side of the room, and Moody's was pointed directly at his heart. Moody took a step forward and Harry saw his mouth open to cast a spell, but before he could utter it, a voice cried,

" _EXPELLIARMUS!"_ and Moody's wand flew from his hand.

Harry looked up. Rose Evans stood in the doorway, her face terrible with rage. Harry had never seen her looking so unkempt. Her robes were torn in several places, sections of her hair had come out of its knot and were hanging in lank pieces around her face, and she was covered in sweat and breathing hard. Rose stooped to pick up the wand without taking her eyes from Moody. She stood and stalked slowly toward him, eyes narrowing. "Back up," she ordered, in a tone very different from her usual voice. Moody obeyed, backing into the corner of the room opposite the door, but his eyes were darting wildly around. "Hands on the ground," said Rose, and Moody obeyed again.

She kept her wand pointed at Moody, but for a moment Rose turned her glance to Harry. "Are you all right?" she answered in a voice as gentle as it had been furious a moment ago.

Harry did not have time to answer. Moody made a sudden lunge at Rose, apparently hoping to overpower her physically and recover his wand. He miscalculated, however, and with a jab of her wand and a cry of " _Impedimenta_!" he was thrown backwards across the room. He landed on his back with a heavy thud, and Rose was on him in an instant. One high-heeled boot stamped onto Moody's chest as she leaned over him. Her nostrils flared with wrath.

"Move again, you piece of Nundu shit," she told him, "and you start losing body parts. Shall I begin with your other eye?" Moody didn't move. For a long moment Rose pointed her wand at him unblinkingly, as if she hoped he would give her a reason to strike. When he did not, she said, "Good decision. But I'm afraid I don't quite trust you, Professor," she said, and she flicked her wand and said, " _Incarcerous_." Thick ropes leapt up, coiling around Moody's body, binding him fast.

Rose kept her eyes on Moody this time as she walked backward to where Harry leaned, still breathing hard, against the wall. Without turning her head, Rose placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry. Has he hurt you?"

"No," Harry managed to croak out before he was interrupted again, this time by the entrance of Professors Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall. They dashed into the room and took in the scene, Rose with her hand still on Harry's shoulder, pointing her wand at the bound and wandless Moody.

Rose spoke calmly, though she was still out of breath. "I beg your pardon, Professor Dumbledore, but your _Contre,_ your _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ Professor here was trying to murder my nephew."

Professor McGonagall strode over to Harry and made to lead him to the hospital wing, but Professor Dumbledore interjected. Harry should stay, Dumbledore explained, because only if he understood what had happened to him could he possibly accept it.

"Moody. How can it have been Moody?" Harry was still in shock.

"That is not Alastor Moody," Dumbledore declared. "You have never known Alastor Moody. The real Alastor would never remove Harry from my side, after what had happened." He ordered Snape to fetch the strongest Truth Potion in his store, and to fetch the house-elf, Winky. McGonagall he sent to fetch the dog that Harry knew to be Sirius.

Rose finally seemed to decide that they were safe. She lowered her wand and looked at Harry for the first time since she had stormed into the room. Her face was full of compassion and worry.

"Harry. We've got you now. You're safe," she told him firmly, crouching next to him on the floor where he had slumped in relief and exhaustion. Harry looked back at her blearily. In that moment, he was struck by how much her eyes resembled his own.

"Where are you bleeding?" she asked. She made a motion with her wand and muttered something which began with " _Accio_ " and ended in French. He held up his cut arm to her in answer, and she touched it lightly, appraising it with the tips of her fingers.

"It's deep. But it's pretty clean," she said, apparently to herself. She looked down at her robes, which were torn, damp, and matted. With a wry shrug, Rose used her wand to sever a strip from the hem of her robe. She wrapped it around Harry's arm just once, saying, "We just need to wait for my kit to arrive and we'll get it cleaned off."

Rose remained by Harry's side while Dumbledore rescued the real Mad-Eye Moody from his own trunk. Her first-aid kit came zooming into the room just as the Polyjuice Potion had begun to wear off of the imposter, and Harry was so distracted by the sight that he hardly noticed Rose cleaning the wound on his arm with some sort of potion. When she began wiping it with something that caused green smoke to puff up from the spot, his eyes flickered away from the emerging features of Barty Crouch, Jr. for a moment. "Dittany," she whispered to him, and he looked back at Crouch just as Snape and Winky arrived.

When Dumbledore finally led Harry to his office, Rose hesitated a moment. Harry turned and looked at her before he left the room, and she seemed to respond to something in his expression and followed them.

When they entered the office, Sirius was at Harry's side instantly. "Harry, are you all right? I knew it- I knew something like this- what happened?" He took in Rose's appearance then, her hair askew and her robes torn, and he looked even more astounded.

"Miss Evans' quick action almost certainly saved Harry's life tonight," Dumbledore began.

Sirius stared at Rose again, a look of respect slowly appearing on his face. They nodded to each other, as if they had an understanding which had been fulfilled. Then Dumbledore continued.

"Harry appeared outside the maze tonight with the body of Cedric Diggory. The cup, you see, had been made into a portkey…"

Hours later, Rose was gazing out the window of the hospital wing at Hogwarts. The moon was only a sliver, almost new, but this made the stars easier to see. She sighed in appreciation that the room, at last, was quiet. She had accompanied Harry and Sirius to the hospital wing and sat in a chair she had drawn for herself through all the night's events. Barty Crouch, Jr. was now a shell of a man. Cornelius Fudge had allowed the Dementors to kiss him, and Fudge had also broken from Dumbledore, refusing to believe in the return of Voldemort. Sirius had left to assemble what Dumbledore called "the old crowd," but before he had transformed back into a dog he had stopped to shake Rose's hand. He had looked directly at her then, and said simply, "Thank you."

"I will see you soon, Sirius," she had responded decidedly. And she knew that she would. Any thought of returning to France, to her old life and work, was completely gone now. The events of this night had solidified her decision. Before he had left the last time, Dumbledore had stooped beside her and asked, "Miss Evans, perhaps I do not need to ask, but I assume I can count on you? You will stay in the country?"

"I will," she had promised, without a second thought.

"Good," he had replied. "I will speak with you further in the days to come; I have an idea which I will share with you soon. You are welcome to remain in the castle until you have made other accommodations. Would you be willing to stay with Harry for the present?"

"Nothing would move me, sir, but an order of yours," Rose had responded. She felt great respect for the leadership which Albus Dumbledore had shown that evening, but she was also determined to look after Harry from now on, whatever the cost.

The hospital wing had been nearly empty for almost two hours. Only Madame Pomfrey, in her dimly lit office, Harry, in his bed, and Rose, in her chair, remained. In her exhaustion, Rose seemed to have come to an unusual clarity of mind about the future. She watched her resolutions pass like ranks of soldiers in an army of her thoughts. She _would_ find a position in England, she decided, even if it meant working for the English Ministry of Magic, an institution Rose now believed to be corrupt. It did not matter; she would do what was needed. She would find a new flat, if not actually in Surrey, at least in London. She would visit Harry at her sister's house, and while there, she would insert herself so firmly between him and his guardians that they would never dare to mistreat him again. She would find a way to fight for Sirius, and she would defy Voldemort as her sister had done before her, no matter the cost. Her scuffle with the imposter Moody had awakened a fighting fire in her chest, a fire which kept her wide awake as the night drifted on.

She turned away from the window now and her eyes fell on Harry, asleep in his bed, under the power of the sleeping draught. For the first time since they had been reunited, she allowed herself to really look at her nephew, at Lily's boy. She studied his face. He was all angles, this boy. Oval face, bony chin, dark, arching eyebrows and wild hair. Lily's long lashes and James' high cheekbones, which were dotted with a little bit of acne. He looked thin, though healthy enough. His arms and legs were knobby and strained with the rapid growth of his age. Harry rolled over in his sleep and Rose caught a whiff of unshowered adolescent boy. She smiled. _His nappies smelled worse_ , she thought in amusement. She could still make out, in the face before her, the features of the baby she had loved. He had seen her in a mirror in his first year, he said. Was this why he had started so, when they had first locked eyes at her arrival? Or did he, against all odds, somehow still remember her?

Her thoughts turned to Sirius. Carefully, she prodded at her own heart, trying to determine why she felt compelled to stay in England almost as much for Sirius' sake as for Harry's. Why did she want so badly to impress him, to be with him, to surround him with comfort as much as she was able? It was more than pity for his ordeal in Azkaban. She felt that she wanted to be his friend in whatever his new life was going to be. As a girl, she had thought Sirius handsome, and had glowed at his attention and praise. James had teased her, telling Sirius to "Watch out for Rosey, I think she's got a crush on you!" But she was no longer a girl. And the turbulence inside her, as she contemplated his expression when he had left, could not be adequately contained by the expression, "crush."

Her attention abruptly returned to Harry when he jerked in his sleep. He twitched, and muttered, and then his head jerked and his eyes flew open. He looked terrified. Rose leaned forward and placed a steadying hand on his arm. "Harry. You're safe."

His expression changed to bewilderment. He sat up and began fumbling around for something. Rose plucked his glasses off the small bedside table and handed them to him silently. He put them on and blinked at her. "You're still here," he said obviously.

"Yes," she whispered. "I thought you might wake, and-" _be upset,_ she thought, but she finished, "need something."

Harry lay back down again. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly and pulled his blanket up a bit higher up. Rose reached over and picked up the mug of sleeping draught which Madame Pomfrey had left behind. "Would you like another gulp of the potion? Help you get back to sleep?"

He shook his head. "Not just yet." He massaged his brow under his glasses before saying, "I didn't thank you. For, you know, disarming Crouch. I- how did you know where to go, to find us?"

"I couldn't see where you'd got to after Dumbledore carried you off. I didn't like that. I got up the observation tower by the pitch and got a glimpse of you entering the castle with that- _salaud_." Rose ended with a hiss.

"You're going to have to teach me how to curse in French before you go back. Ron will love it," said Harry, looking faintly amused.

Rose smiled. "You'll have to pick it up on your own, like I did. But I'm not going back to France, Harry."

He looked at her swiftly. "You're not?"

"No," she affirmed. They looked at each other for a moment, and Rose began to speak, slowly. "When I came to Hogwarts, I wasn't sure what I would find. I hadn't gotten the impression that you had any use for an aunt. I thought I would meet you, and get to know your school, and if you wanted to, maybe we'd arrange a visit. Maybe you'd come to Paris after all. But I think very differently now. I think I may be able to be of some use here. To Dumbledore. To Sirius. To you. I'm planning to look for a flat in London once you've gone home for the summer. So you see," she joked, cautioning a look at his expression, "you're stuck with me now."

Harry's face, which still looked pale and rather ill, registered satisfaction at this news. "Good," was all he said, but he smiled at her briefly before looking back at the ceiling.

A few moments passed in silence, and then Harry sat up again. "I think I'd better have a swig of that potion after all," he admitted. Rose passed him the mug, and replaced it on the table when he had drunk.

"Sleep well, Harry. I'll be here if you need anything." He was asleep again within minutes.


	9. Third Flower Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Seeds

The first day of July in Scotland was promising to be warmer than anyone at Beauxbatons would ever have believed. Rose could scarcely believe it herself. Attired though she was in her lightest linen robes, she was still warm. Late June had brought a string of such clear, sunny days that Rose was finding Scotland to be almost charming. There was still a great deal left of the early summer heather to be seen in the field surrounding Hogwarts. The birds seemed to sing in the mornings with a great deal more energy than they did in the Pyrenees. _Probably because they must make the most of the short summers,_ Rose thought. Still, she appreciated the atmosphere created by the season, as she set herself to the tasks she had been dreading since she had left Harry at Platform 9 ¾: finding work, and finding a place to live.

Just days before, Rose had apparated to London for the first time in her life. She went to Platform 9 ¾ primarily for Harry's sake, thinking that he might have an easier time with Vernon and Petunia if they knew she was back in the country and interested in Harry's well-being. Rose's old hurt at Petunia's abandonment, combined with her growing knowledge of Petunia's treatment of Harry, had set a fire of anger in her which she was eager to vent. The look on Petunia's face when she had seen and recognized Rose, standing next to Harry with her wand in her hand, went a long way towards satisfying her, at least in the short term. Rose had walked with Harry to meet the Dursleys on the edge of the platform. Vernon was swelling with indignation, and Petunia was turning pale with shock. Rose had looked directly at her sister before saying dispassionately, "Hello, Petunia."

Petunia had gone red at this point, and had looked alternately angry and terrified as Rose politely asked her how she did. Petunia had said nothing, so Rose had gotten to the point (Vernon, she had ignored): "I have grown up, Petunia. I've finished my education, and now, I have come home. Harry and I are good friends now," (she had thought a little exaggeration would be forgivable, here, and would help her accomplish her purpose), "and I plan to play him a visit this summer! I know how much you love to entertain, sister, so I wanted to give you a fair and advance warning."

"I don't suppose," Petunia had finally managed to say, her voice icy and shaking, "that our not having invited you to visit will make any difference to your plans?"

"Not in the least," Rose smiled.

"Of course!" Vernon burst out, "Like all of your sort, you care nothing about politeness, about anyone else but yourselves. You just do whatever you want to regular people's lives, to their homes and their families, without regard to their wishes! I've had it with your lot coming around uninvited. Breaking and entering, is what it is!"

"I have been polite to you both for 14 years, Mr. Dursley," Rose said seriously. "And the result has been that I have been prevented from knowing either of my nephews. Now," she raised her hands quellingly to Vernon as he began to splutter again, "I respect your right to prevent me from knowing your own son. But I'm afraid I will no longer allow you to prevent me from seeing Harry. I will do no harm to your home or family, but visit I will. You should expect me on the 31st of July, at about 10 in the morning. Is that all right, Harry?" she inquired politely of Harry.

Harry, who had been trying very hard to be invisible throughout this exchange, only said, "Yes." He met her eye, though, and smiled from behind his Aunt and Uncle's backs. She had winked at him, and said in farewell, "You will hear from me soon, Harry! I'll want to know what kind of summer you're having!" As she had not yet heard from him in the days that had followed, Rose could not be certain that the conversation was having the desired effect on her sister and brother-in-law. But it had seemed to intimidate them at the time. And anyway, the trip to London allowed her to spend the rest of the afternoon strolling around in Muggle and Wizarding London by turns, and in procuring both Wizarding and Muggle newspaper subscriptions.

 _The Daily Prophet_ subscription, at least, had brought Rose a great deal of perspective. She had read with disbelief at first, as the _Prophet_ first refused to acknowledge Voldemort's return or the violence which had marred the Triwizard Tournament, and then with mounting anger as the paper began its subtle smear campaign against Harry. Rose had traveled enough and learned enough of politics from her time at the _Ministère_ to recognize what the English Ministry was trying to do, but to see her nephew the subject of it was a new and galling sensation. More than once her jaw dropped in indignation over breakfast, and more than once she had to leave the small table where she breakfasted with several of the Hogwarts teachers and fume in the Rose Garden. _Poor Harry,_ she would think as soon as she calmed down, _having to put up with this treatment after his ordeal in the third task._ She longed to visit him and see how he was bearing up, but she knew that the business of work and housing must come first.

Still, she had sent him a short note- by owl post, this time- to which she hoped he would soon reply. _Dear Harry,_ she had written, _I hope this finds you well. Professor Dumbledore has kindly allowed me to stay on at Hogwarts until such time as I have found work and found lodging. I am looking for a flat in London! What do you do during the summer? Please send me a line to let me know how you are, and that this has reached you. I still plan to see you on your birthday, if you're all right with that. I will be in touch again soon, Love, Rose._ Rose had thought about erasing the word "love," wondering if it would embarrass him. But the image in her mind of all the packages and cards she had sent in his lifetime, all the love which had never reached him, prevented her from erasing it. She ended with a post-script: _Please don't let the_ Prophet _bother you. You've got plenty of people on your side._ Lis had flown away with this letter two days after Harry had gone home. She planned to give him two more days to respond, though part of her almost hoped he would not, so that she would have an excuse to break down her sister's door after all.

In the meantime, Rose sat at a bench in the summer sun, making the other primary use of her newspapers: searching for new positions, and for places to rent. She was having some success with the latter task; before many minutes had gone by, she had circled half a dozen eligible and affordable listings for London flats. The task of finding work, however, was proving more of a challenge. She had relied upon Madame Maxime's contacts in the British Ministry to help her find some sort of office position there. But yesterday had dashed that hope.

She had been sitting on that very bench with yesterday's paper when the prodigiously large man, whom she knew to teach Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts, had gone tramping by wearing sturdy boots and carrying a rucksack. He had waved jovially, and Rose had replied, "Good Morning, Hagrid! Where are you off to on such a fine morning?"

"Good morning yerself, Miss Rose. Well, what I'm doin' is Dumbledore's business, so I'm afraid I can't say much about it. But it'll take me away for a few months, most likely, so I've got Professor Sprout looking after me garden for a spell. I'll be traveling with your Madame Maxime, y'know! Fine woman she is, too." Rose could have sworn he was blushing as he made this last remark.

"Oh indeed?" Rose had had to shade her eyes to see his face in the sun. "Will she be with you for your entire trip? I had hoped to catch her with an owl today."

"Oh, I'm afraid she'll probably miss yer owl, and most owls for a few weeks 't least. Owls won't go anywhere near giants, o' course, so you probably'd best wait till she gets back." He lifted his large hand to his mouth then and looked horrified. "Oh, dear, I shouldn'a said tha'! You won't tell anyone about tha', will ya now?" he asked imploringly.

Rose shook her head, amused. "Of course I won't, Mr. Hagrid. That's a promise." Hagrid had still looked a bit uneasy, but he had bid her farewell again and sloped off toward Hogsmeade.

Now, Rose saw only one actual ad in that day's _Prophet_ for work at the Ministry, a secretarial position for which she was rather overqualified. Nevertheless, she circled it. Rose was beginning to jot down the contacts listed in the ad when the sound of footsteps took her eyes from the newspaper. Albus Dumbledore was walking toward her, smiling in the mid-morning sun.

"Good morning, Miss Evans! I'm so glad to see you enjoying this charming weather."

"Professor Dumbledore," Rose smiled and rose to greet him. "Please, call me Rose."

He looked down at the newspaper on the bench. "Any luck?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I shall have to get in touch with my previous employer at the _Ministère,_ I think. It seems Madame Maxime is away for a time."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said regretfully. "That would be my fault. But my dear Rose, I have a suggestion for you, as well as a request. Will you walk with me? The Rose Garden is very pleasant at this time of year."

"Certainly I will!" Rose stooped, folded up her newspapers, and tucked them under her left arm. He extended his left arm to her, and they walked up the stone path through the entrance to the garden. The velvety smell of sun-warmed roses filled Rose's nostrils, and she sighed in delight.

"I am happy to see you comfortable at Hogwarts, Miss Ev- Rose." He nodded to her, smiling. "To the purpose, however: I have just finished speaking with the Board of Governors, and I have managed to convince them to add another branch of study at Hogwarts. I believe it is time that young witches and wizards in England had more knowledge of international issues, more cultural competency, and more appreciation of other schools of magic around the world, especially in light of our experiences with the Triwizard Tournament this past year."

Dumbledore nodded in the direction of the lake, in which the Durmstrang ship had docked, and near which the Beauxbatons carriage had stood. He continued, raising his eyebrows at Rose, "I am interested in offering a course, beginning in the Fall Term, in Studies in International Magical Issues. This would involve an introduction to wizarding schools around the world, current diplomatic issues between magical nations, and differing customs around the world. I feel that with your education and experience you would be an ideal teacher of such a course. Would teaching here at Hogwarts be of interest to you?"

Rose was stunned. Dumbledore had custom crafted this course to fit her experience and knowledge exactly; she was sure if it. She stole a look at him, wondering. How had he managed to invent a position for her in only a week's time? He was smiling serenely, giving no hint which would speak to her suspicions. She realized he was waiting for a reply, and quickly said, "Of course, Professor! I would be very happy to teach such a course."

"Good, good!" Dumbledore looked pleased, though not surprised. "The course will be an elective course, so you will teach only those students in their third year and beyond. You will not have to work with any first or second year students, which can be quite challenging."

"Ah, Professor," Rose said earnestly, "I am sure I will be happy to work with any Hogwarts students you wish to send me. And I am relieved, frankly, for I must say I did not find myself looking forward to working for your Ministry at this moment. I think I would have found the environment fraught, to say the least."

"Well, quite," Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Well, in this case, I will have your contract to you by the close of the week. I am sure you will be anxious to begin preparing your curriculum- teachers present their curriculum at our August 15 staff meeting, by the way- but we will have business to attend to sooner than that. Do you remember all that I have told you of the Order of the Phoenix and its activities?"

Rose nodded.

Dumbledore continued, "I hear from Sirius Black that all living Order members, and several new ones, have been prepared and the Order will now recommence. We meet on Monday next, the the evening of the third, at Sirius' home. Can I expect you to join us?"

"Of course, Professor. I have already promised you all the help I can give." Rose wondered why he felt he must ask her a second time. Was she going to have to earn his trust, too?

"Yes, of course," he said, slightly apologetically, "And I am again most grateful. I want to impress upon you, however, not to commit to this work lightly. The tasks we do will be dangerous, they will be secret, and they will most certainly be considered seditious and punishable by the British Ministry of Magic." Dumbledore had stopped, and spoke earnestly, with his eyes on hers. "Are you prepared to work in secret against the Ministry?"

"If it's the same Ministry which Cornelius Fudge heads, then I have no qualms whatsoever about working against it, Professor," Rose said fervently. She remembered Fudge's behavior in the hospital wing following Harry's ordeal only too well.

Dumbledore smiled. "Well then, Miss Evans- excuse me- _Rose_ , it seems we will be both confederates and colleagues. Allow me to welcome you to the teaching staff at Hogwarts, and to the Order of the Phoenix. Ah, and you will need this," and he handed Rose a folded piece of paper. "Read that, memorize it, and be sure to destroy it before the close of this day, Rose. I shall see you on Monday at six! And welcome again!"

He beamed and shook her hand, and seemed about to take his leave when he suddenly stopped. "One more thing, Rose." He looked grave. "I cannot fully explain what I am going to ask of you now. I am afraid that that is sometimes the nature of Order of the Phoenix work. I must ask now that you do not reveal information about the Order, or about what you hear at meetings, to Harry at this time. I fear that neither Harry, nor the members of the Order, will be safe if he knows too much. If he should write to you, or if he should ask you on his birthday visit about what is being done to oppose Voldemort, you must deflect until the summer is concluded. Can I have your word that you will do this?"

Rose took a step back and frowned. "Refuse Harry information? But why, Professor, what can this possibly accomplish except to frustrate Harry?"

"I am afraid, at this time, I cannot explain myself fully. Suffice to say, I believe that the inside of Harry's head is a most unsafe place for information about the anti-Voldemort movement." He looked at her compassionately, but firmly. "May I have your word? Until I say he may be informed, you will not tell him of our activities?"

Rose hesitated, but then nodded. "You have my word, Professor. But I must tell you, I think Harry will be quite miserable about being kept in the dark." She remembered the fighting fire in his eyes on the day they visited Sirius in the cave. "I fear he will take action on his own if we don't give him action to take."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and nodded. "I fear the same. Nonetheless, he cannot be informed of our doings at this time. We must trust to his good sense, and his good nature. He is quite an extraordinary person, you know."

"I have known him only eight months, but I heartily agree, Professor."

As Professor Dumbledore strolled away in the direction of Hogsmeade, Rose felt curiosity compel her to open the folded paper. On it was written, in Dumbledore's own slanting hand,

 _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London._

The evening of July third found Rose standing on a sidewalk in London, facing a house which was not there. She had had a tiring day. Flat-hunting in London was proving to be more bothersome than she had expected. Rose was indifferent as to whether she lived in Wizarding or in Muggle London, so she had looked at both sorts of flats. The first (Muggle) flat needed so many repairs that Rose could not imagine trying to live there without doing absurdly obvious amounts of magic to it. The second (Wizarding) had had no toilet; the elderly witch who was letting it had said she didn't hold with toilets. "Unsanitary things, and really Muggle in origin if you do your research. A competent witch can vanish anything she has to expel, or she's not worth her salt, my dear!" The third (Muggle) had been in a building which had seemed to be populated entirely by insolent, offensive men on whom she would not wish to turn her back. The fourth (Wizarding) did not exist. The Wizard who was to show it to her had said, regretfully, that it only existed during even-numbered years, and he'd forgotten to remove the advertisement. It seemed that she'd need to come back for another try.

Of course, it wasn't as though she couldn't stay at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had made it clear that she was welcome to stay in the castle indefinitely. But she had hoped, for what she was beginning to think were selfish reasons, to have her own space in London. She had grown used, in Paris, to being able to cook for herself and to spend days comfortably in solitude whenever her work allowed it. She had, furthermore, imagined the possibility of spiriting Harry away from his aunt and uncle when she could manage it, and for this reason the flats she was considering all had two bedrooms.

Now, however, she must put the question of where to live out of her head. There hadn't been time to see any more flats, so Rose had apparated to Grimmauld Place a bit early. She gave herself a few moments to breathe away the nervous energy which had descended over her as she prepared to attend her first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. As she stood on the sidewalk in the early evening sunlight, she considered whether her nervousness wasn't due more to the prospect of seeing Sirius again than to anticipation of the meeting.

With a shrug, Rose closed her eyes and concentrated upon the location of the house: _Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Number 12 Grimmauld Place._ She pictured the slanting writing on the note, and opened her eyes. A narrow, tall, and soot-blackened brick building had appeared before her where previously there had been a seamless attachment of Numbers 11 and 13. She looked around to be sure that no Muggles were about, smoothed her linen Muggle dress, climbed the stairs, and knocked on the door.

The door opened, and at first, Rose suspected it had opened by itself, for she saw no one before here. But then a deep, croaking voice several feet below her caused her to look down: "Master has invited another mudblood to darken my poor Mistress' home. Oh, poor my Mistress, what new dishonor will Master Sirius bring to you?" She beheld a shrunken, sullen looking house-elf, wearing a loincloth so filthy it would not have been allowed on the grounds of Beauxbatons.

This greeting notwithstanding, Rose smiled as politely as she could. "Good evening," she began, but before she could finish, Sirius himself was there.

"Kreacher, you sodden dish-rag, why don't you go find yourself something useful to do," he growled, and then nodded at Rose. "Hello, Rose. You're early." He took a step back as she entered. "Mind the umbrella stand."

"Thank you, Sirius. I hope it's not an inconvenience, only I hadn't time to look at any more flats, and I am anxious to sit down. It's been a long day." Rose smiled tentatively into his face. Sirius had shadows under his eyes, but he looked cleaner and better groomed than she had seen him look since before his time in Azkaban.

He gave her a half-smile and said, "Have you eaten? Kreacher has made some truly awful soup, but I can knock up a sandwich-?"

Rose raised her eyebrows. "Does your house-elf not cook well? I have never known one to be a poor cook."

"Oh, he can cook, all right. He just chooses to make poisonous food for me, as a mark of his special affection," Sirius added drily.

"I have known many house-elves," Rose mused. "Every one took great pride in his or her cooking ability. He must have a special dislike for you, Padfoot. But perhaps he can be worked upon? Where is your kitchen?"

Sirius gestured, and led her down a set of stairs into a dark, narrow kitchen. Kreacher was slowly stirring a pot of boiling sludge, with a resentful look on his pinched face. Rose approached him cautiously. "Hello, Kreacher! Can you tell me, does the kitchen have an extra saucepan?"

Kreacher turned slowly to look at her with narrowed eyes. "The Mudblood wishes to cook? Kreacher has cooked. Kreacher does his poor best, but it is never enough, oh no. Master is always discontent, always complaining, he always had a bad temper. My Mistress always said so."

"Kreacher, don't you _dare_ call her that disgusting name again-" Sirius began, angrily, but Rose held up a quelling hand.

"Oh, Kreacher, I am sure your soup is very good! But I was thinking of making a couple of Croque-Monsieur. I knew a French house-elf once, called Coco, and she made the most divine Croque-Monsieur! She gave me some tips," Rose was now opening cupboards and shutting them, appearing to search for a saucepan, "but I'm sure I will never be able to equal her recipe."

"The Mudblood is putting the kitchen in disorder, and poor Kreacher will have to put it all to rights again when she is done. Oh, poor Kreacher." Sirius glared at him, snarling when he repeated the forbidden word, but Kreacher used the wooden spoon he was holding to give himself a _thwack_ across the shin. He winced briefly in pain, but then looked at Sirius so insolently that Rose imagined he thought the punishment quite worth insulting Sirius' guest to his face.

Rose continued to rummage through the cabinets. "Oh, I don't blame you, Kreacher, for not wanting to try it. French recipes are tricky, especially for someone who has never cooked in that style before. Now Coco, she always said the trick was the bechamel sauce; it just couldn't be made properly without, she said."

Kreacher abruptly opened a drawer beneath the stove and drew out a saucepan which he set upon the stove with a bang. He snapped his fingers and a bowl came floating gently down from the top shelf of a nearby cabinet. He snapped again and grumbled, as the summoned ham, cheese, eggs, butter, and other ingredients began to dance their way to him, "Kreacher does not need help to make Croque-Monsieur. She insults Kreacher, and no one defends him. Kreacher will not be turned out of his own kitchen, he will not. Not by a French mudblood spy or by a French house-elf, no. He needs no one's help to do his duty by the Black family's kitchen. Poor Kreacher..." He continued his litany in an undertone as Rose turned to Sirius, smiling triumphantly.

"Oh, of course you may try it, Kreacher! Do call for me if you're having trouble. I know some tips that really make the texture turn out perfectly." Sure now that her plan had worked, Rose walked out of the kitchen. Sirius was right behind her.

When they were safely in the dining room again, Sirius let out a low whistle. "Kreacher has met his match in you, Mademoiselle! Well done."

Rose flushed agreeably at the praise as they sat down on rigid, ebony chairs. "I wasn't sure it would work, but we're lucky it did. I'm really quite a novice cook and I think real Croque Monsieur would have been beyond me."

Sirius laughed, and leaned back in his chair. "So, you spent your day looking at flats in London?"

"Yes, but not very successfully," Rose admitted. She told him the story of Flats One, Two, Three, and Four, and Sirius laughed, looked disgusted, or smiled as the anecdote required. When she finished, she sighed. "Well, I can give it another try. I'm sure I'll have another chance to be down here, and I really can stay in the castle as long as I need. I had just looked hoped to find a place in London."

Sirius was looking at her with an odd expression on his face. He seemed to be screwing himself up to say something, but couldn't quite manage to do it.

"Do you have any ideas for me?" Rose asked. "You don't know anyone in London who has a flat to let, do you?" She chuckled with amusement.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Well, it probably won't be to your taste, and it doesn't come with very pleasant company. But, I mean- you would be welcome to stay here."

Rose looked at him sharply.

Sirius shrugged his shoulders. "Of course, it's a drab, ugly place, not the kind of atmosphere you'd want. But it is very big, and it's the headquarters building, so I believe we'll have some more people coming to stay in the next weeks. It's- it's an offer, if you don't find anything better. You could save your money, you know. I won't charge you rent." Sirius laughed one short, barking laugh and looked at the murky carpet.

Rose thought for a moment before answering slowly. "You know… I may take you up on that, Sirius. I don't know that I'd want to continue to rent a flat during the school year, especially as it's my first year, and I could really only occupy the flat two or three weekends in a month after September." She looked around at the dark dining room, and then at the expression of interest on Sirius' face. He sat up straighter, his grey eyes looking slightly more alive now.

"Well. I can show you around after the meeting ends, maybe. You can have a look at the bedrooms and see if any of them would suit. Get first choice, you know." He grinned at her, and her heart gave a little lurch.

"I'll tell you what," Rose said, her tone teasing. "I'll stay here, in whichever bedroom you prefer, if the Croque-Monsieur Kreacher makes tastes good."

Sirius extended his hand. "It's a deal." She shook it, just as a knock at the door reminded them that the Order meeting would be beginning soon. Sirius got up, and in a moment, he was accompanied by a shabby-looking wizard with a lean face and kind eyes, who looked extremely familiar to Rose. "Can you believe this is Lily's baby sister, Mooney? Rose, you remember Remus Lupin?"

Rose leapt to her feet to shake his hand. "Of course, Mooney! It's wonderful to see you again!"

Remus smiled wonderingly as they shook hands. "And you, Rose! I realize that it's been quite a few years since Godric's Hollow, but how you are transformed!"

"It's that French education," Sirius chuckled. "Mooney, you'll never guess who she was dancing with at the Yule Ball, according to Harry!" But he didn't have time to explain, for there was another knock at the door.

"I hope you don't mind that we're eating," Rose explained, as Kreacher came marching in with a covered dish. "I hadn't had an opportunity to eat yet. I'm sure there are enough sandwiches, aren't there, Kreacher?" Kreacher merely scowled at her, placed the dish on the table, and marched back, grumbling, "Kreacher will bring wine."

The Croque-Monsieur proved to be exquisitely tasty. Remus was persuaded by Sirius' noises of enjoyment to try one of the halves. When Rose finished her Croque-Monsieur, she looked up to find Sirius, sitting across from her at the ever-filling table, with an eyebrow raised, questioningly. Rose smiled and mouthed, "Deal," to which he responded with a wide grin. They turned their attention to the front of the room, then. Albus Dumbledore had just arrived.


	10. Third Flower Chapter 11

**A.N. Thank you again for all reviews! Here is the confrontation some of you have been asking for.**

Chapter 11: Growing Towards the Sun

Rose returned to Hogwarts to find a letter from Harry waiting for her. It was late, nearly midnight, by the time she had been able to apparate back, but she opened the letter eagerly before going to bed.

 _Dear Rose,_ it said, _I'm doing fine. Dudley's a boxer at school now. He keeps in practice by bullying grade school kids in the neighborhood. Usually he limits it to kids at the playground; he doesn't like to walk too far. He's leaving me alone, though, which is good, I guess._

 _Things are pretty dull around here, as usual. I miss Hogwarts. I hope you find work and a flat soon. Where do you want to work? Next year is O.W.L. year, and Hermione says that's when we start talking about careers. I'm not sure yet what I want to do._

 _In the summers I mainly try to stay away from Dudley, so that's going pretty well so far. I even got an ice lolly yesterday when Dudley accidentally got the wrong flavor. What I'd really like is some news. Do you know what's happening with Voldemort? I keep looking on the Muggle news to see if anyone's disappeared or been murdered or anything, and nothing seems to be happening along those lines. The_ Prophet's _no help. I haven't heard anything from Dumbledore, but I got the impression he was rounding up people to fight Voldemort. Has he rounded you up to fight, too?_

 _You can still visit on July 31st. I'm not going anywhere. Hope you're doing ok._

 _Harry_

 _Oh dear_ , thought Rose. _He's already asking for information I can't give._ Quite apart from the concerns she had shared with Dumbledore, Rose was unhappy about keeping Harry in the dark because she wanted to earn his trust. How could he trust her if she was just another adult who refused to tell him the truth? Exhausted, Rose pushed the matter from her mind and went to bed. _When I go to visit,_ she promised herself, _I'll buy him a package of ice lollies._

Rose found plenty of things to occupy her time in the weeks that followed. She began by packing her summer clothes and sundry of her most necessary items (her photo albums from Cokeworth and Godric's Hollow, her stationary, her favorite books and Lis in her cage) and accompanying them by portkey to London, via Diagon Alley. As he had promised, Remus Lupin met her there, and helped her to to surreptitiously move her things into Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The Blue Bedroom, as Sirius had called it, was dusty and dour, but with a little tidying up she found it serviceable enough. Sirius' own bedroom was just down the hall, a fact which, until the arrival of the Weasley family on July 10, made her feel a little bit self-conscious. At first, she got up quite early to make use of the bathroom before there was a chance of bumping into Sirius before her morning toilette. However, she soon found he was a late sleeper, and the prospect of meeting him before she was ready in the mornings no longer concerned her.

She spent her days at Grimmauld Place chiefly in planning her curriculum for Studies in International Magical Issues. Meetings of the Order of the Phoenix were frequent, too. Rose was placed on duty at the Department of Mysteries several times a week, an eerie and tedious experience from which she always returned drained and strangely cold. Sirius got in the habit of fixing her tea when she returned from duty, and they whiled away many an evening with card games in the stern-looking library, Kreacher wandering in at random to glower at them. Rose taught Sirius to play Disappearing _Coinche_ ; Sirius taught her to play Exploding Snap.

Rose kept up her end of her correspondence with Harry. For his part, Harry rather dropped off writing letters once it become clear that Rose was not going to provide any specific information about the doings of the anti-Voldemort movement. Rose had tried to be honest in her letters, but found she could come up with nothing better to say in response to his constant questions than things like, "I'm sure you'll find out all you need to know soon," "I can't communicate very much by letter," and "I'll see you soon." She knew he must find this infuriating, and her mind was uneasy as she contemplated what he might do in his desperation if he didn't get some information soon.

A few days before the end of the month, Rose began to shop. She was gone for most of the day on July 30th, and when she returned, to the Weasley children's (and Arthur's) excitement, she had rented a car. Early the next morning, Rose said good-bye to the crowd at the breakfast table, assuring Molly that she would bring Harry her love. With Ron's help, she packed her bags and parcels into the stylish looking SAAB and was on the road to Surrey before 8:30.

Harry woke up on the morning of his fifteenth birthday in a glaze of sweat. The heat was already intense, though it was only a quarter-past nine. He rolled over and blearily put his glasses on before he realized what day it was. His birthday! Rose's visit! Harry sat up and abruptly began to get dressed. Then, he straightened up his room as best he could, making his bed properly for the first time in weeks and hastily shoving the detritus on the floor under the bed. Harry wondered as he brushed his teeth how Rose would travel. Floo Powder seemed much the easiest way. He wondered if he should have warned her about the Dursleys' fireplace being electric. Perhaps she would find a safe place to apparate.

Harry kept his ears pricked, listening for the telltale _crack_ that would signify apparition, so when he heard the sound of a car in the driveway he was quite flummoxed. He peered out the window. Rose Evans, wearing an airy-looking dress and holding a handbag just big enough for a wand, was getting out of a small, shiny car and approaching Number Four, Privet Drive. Her blond hair, so like Petunia's in color in texture, was braided down her back, and she wore sunglasses. She looked for all the world like a Muggle, like someone Petunia would consider "normal." Harry wondered if she had arrived this way to avoid offending the Dursleys. _Well, that's not going to work_ , Harry thought drily as he started for the front door.

Petunia beat him to the door, however. She opened the door, just wide enough to admit Rose, and then shut it quickly as if hoping to keep Rose out of the neighbors' view. Dudley, no doubt at his parents' encouragement, was already at a neighbor's house.

Vernon stood in the hall, arms folded across his chest, looking thunderous. At a glance from him, Harry retreated back up the stairs. He stopped once he was out of view, however, and listened.

"Hello, Petunia," Rose began, but Petunia spoke over her.

"The boy is upstairs," she said, in a tone that made it clear she expected Rose to go upstairs and out of her sight immediately.

"His name is Harry," Rose said quietly. "But I need to talk to you, first. Can we sit? Where is your sitting room?"

"Anything you need to say to Petunia you can say in front of me, right here," Uncle Vernon snarled.

Rose sighed. "Very well. Petunia, I've sent presents to Harry and Dudley every year since they were one. What did you do with Harry's gifts? I know Dudley got his."

There was a silence. Rose persisted, "Did you throw them away?" Another silence. At long last, Harry guessed that Petunia must have shaken her head, because Rose said, "Then where _are_ they? What did you do with thirteen years' worth of gifts?"

"They're in the attic," Petunia's voice was resentful and cold. "I'll show you." Harry hardly had time to dash back into his room and shut the door before they were passing by and heading for the attic stair. He hardly knew why he was hiding, except that he suspected that Petunia's attitude toward Rose would not be improved by the sight of him.

Harry heard the sounds of both his aunts tramping up to the attic and he opened his door. They had left the door to the attic stair open. Harry could not help it; he followed at a safe distance until he could hear their voices.

"They're there, in the box." Petunia was saying.

"You kept them all?" Rose's voice.

Petunia's response must have been silent. Then Rose spoke again.

"Why did you do it, Tuney?" she said in a stifled voice. "Why did you keep me from him? I sent everything in Muggle Post. All the toys are Muggle toys, if you couldn't tell. Why would you keep them from him?"

Again there was silence. Rose spoke again, and Harry had to admire her persistence. "I asked you for visits. I had nowhere to go for the holidays. I'm your _family,_ Tuney." Harry could hear the voice of the child Rose had been in her voice. He did not like to hear her sound so vulnerable.

Petunia finally spoke. "I've had enough of _witches._ " The last word came out as a hiss.

Harry heard Rose take a deep breath. "I understand. I do. But why could you not treat Harry with love, with kindness at least? Why could you not treat Lily's baby the way you treated me, when I was a girl?"

When Petunia was silent once more, Rose's voice became cold with anger. "I want to hear it from you. How could you treat your own family this way? _I_ recovered, _I_ grew up, but Harry was a _child._ He had no one."

Again Petunia was silent. Harry heard the creak of her feet start toward the stairs and he made to run back to his room, but Rose's feet suddenly moved and he saw her sandals at the top of the attic stairs. She had blocked her sister's retreat.

" _Put that foul thing away!_ " Petunia spat, and Harry almost gasped, realizing that Rose must have drawn her wand on her sister.

"I will not," Rose replied harshly. "I have deferred to you, I have respected you, I have trusted you. And you have returned my trust with deceit, with cruelty towards our nephew. I gave you fourteen years of silence, Petunia, _you owe me five minutes._ " He hadn't heard Rose sound so angry since she cornered Barty Crouch, Jr. at Hogwarts.

Rose took a moment before she began in an even voice, that Harry could yet hear shaking with anger. "When you abandoned me, I was a child. And when Lily and James were killed, I was still a child. I could do nothing. I had to trust that you had enough decency to do right by our _sister's child_. But Petunia, I am not a child anymore. And you will no longer mistreat Harry, or allow your _husband_ -" Rose hissed in a voice uncannily like Petunia's, "to mistreat him either."

Harry backed up a pace, stumbling a bit, but he listened with all his might.

Rose continued, "Harry must stay here. Believe me, I wish he could live with me, but you and I both know why he must stay here. But," Rose's voice became steely now, "Harry will have all his meals. He will be allowed fresh air. He will _not_ be locked into any more cupboards, or rooms, or have bars put on his window. From now on, I will know it if he is not treated humanely. I will know it, and you will not be able to avoid the things that will start to happen to you. You will not be able to put _them_ in the attic. Your-neighbors-will-notice."

For a moment there was silence. Harry stood, unwilling to move and risk missing any of the conversation, yet poised in case his aunt should begin to descend. His heart was pounding as if he himself had given that speech to Petunia, and he was filled with an odd mixture of exaltation and dread. Then he heard Rose speak again.

"I'm going downstairs now. I will be spending the day with Harry. You are welcome to avoid us. If you should ever decide that you want a sister again, let me know."

The footsteps began to fall now and Harry hastily backed into his room. He heard one person come down to the second floor in a hurry, and continue down to the first floor. The other pair of feet came more slowly, and Harry was sure they were Rose's. He opened his door to see her struggling to carry a huge cardboard box down the attic stairs. When she saw him, her face broke into a wide grin.

"Hello, Harry James!" she said happily. She was smiling at him so radiantly that he couldn't help smiling back. He felt the way he usually felt upon first seeing Ron and Hermione again. It was the first time anyone had smiled at him in over a month.

"Here, let me help," Harry said, stepping forward and grabbing hold of the side of the box. Together, they lowered it from the ladder, and carried it into Harry's room. The box was large, heavy, and taped shut with only one piece of tape, as though Petunia had expected to open it again.

Rose straightened. "Thank you, Harry! I've got several boxes to bring in, too, in the boot of the Saab. Will you give me a hand?"

"Of course," said Harry, intrigued. "You have a car?"

"Rented it," she explained. "Thought a car in the driveway would be easiest on your neighbors. I had to learn how to drive in America," she added in answer to his unspoken question. "Come see it! It was fun to drive!"

He followed Rose down the stairs. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were nowhere to be seen; Harry supposed they had taken Rose's advice to avoid them for the day. They took two trips to carry the parcels and boxes and grocery bags into his room. Harry was glad he had thought to straighten it up.

When he arrived at the top of the staircase with the last of the bundles, Rose was busily taking things out paper, emptying grocery bags, and tidying up the packaging as best she could. Harry was astounded. Every surface of his room was occupied. On his desk was a tall bottle of lemonade and a closed bakery box. On his chair, aroma rising tantalizingly, was a pizza box. The foot of his bed hosted a gift wrapped in colorful paper, and on his nightstand was a cluster of disposable napkins, plates, and forks. Rose was crouching and pointing her wand at the final grocery bag, which was still on the floor next out his desk. "Just a freezing charm for the ice lollies," she said, cheerily. "Should last as long as they do." Then she stood and looked at him. They knew a moment of awkward silence.

Harry spoke first. "All this- this is incredible. Thank you."

Rose smiled, still not taking her eyes off him. "Professor Dumbledore says I can't take you to London. That will have to wait. But I did want to- well, you know- I've got quite a lot to make up for. Speaking of-" and she moved to the large cardboard box which was still in front of Harry's closet, where they had left it. "Why don't we see what's in here?"

What was in the box was no fewer than twenty-six birthday and Christmas gifts. The most recent, a trilogy of exciting-looking novels and a thick green jumper, were on the top. Harry and Rose sat on either side of the box, lifting items out one at a time. Some were wrapped; others were still in packaging that bore the stamp, _Jolis Jouets_. "That's the Muggle toy shop in Cauterets where I used to get all your gifts," Rose explained. She continued to offer comments as they worked their way through the box. "You see, this I thought you could play on your own, on all those trips I thought were taking in the car," she said about a small hand-held game featuring battling dinosaurs. "Oh, there's the message board!" she cried a few moments later. "It glows in the dark, you know!" Some of the gifts were duplicates of things Harry remembered Dudley receiving as gifts from his parents or his Aunt Marge. Most, however, were unique, and Harry was undergoing a strange internal process as they worked their way to the bottom of the box. All these years that he had been receiving gum wrappers and used up toothpaste from the Dursleys, there had been someone sending proper gifts, meant for him alone. Every one of those lonely Christmases and birthdays, he had been remembered.

Finally, they reached the end of the trail of gifts. Rose reached all the way into the box and, with a stricken look on her face, retrieved a brown, shabby-looking stuffed rabbit. "Coney," she said, and her voice was choked. "I didn't expect to see this again. I meant it for you. This was my rabbit, Harry, but that first year at school I couldn't go shopping for a gift for you, so I gave you Coney." She looked at it a moment longer, before handing it to him with a watery smile.

Harry was touched, but he shook his head. "Keep it," he advised. "That was yours. You should have it."

For a moment, it looked as if Rose would argue, but then she nodded and placed the rabbit next to her handbag, wiping her eyes and smiling brightly. "Now. Why not open this year's gift? I hope you like it as well as you liked the Christmas gift," Rose said, referring to the tiny model of a quidditch pitch with tiny flying balls which she had given him at lunch on the day of the Yule Ball.

"You've just given me twenty-odd presents, Rose!" Harry laughed, but he tore open the paper anyway. Inside the box were a pair of shiny, new, red, gold, and black trainers. When he reached for the tongue to check the size, the laces sprang loose and the tongues lifted on their own accord. " _Wicked_ ," Harry breathed. "Did you find out my size?"

"I didn't have to," Rose replied. "These are wizarding trainers; they come from this little shop on Diagon Alley that specializes in Muggle spin-offs. You see, they look like Muggle trainers, even with the insignia-" here she pointed at the curving shape on the side of the shoe, "but they stretch to fit your feet. Also, Dudley won't be able to steal them; they'd chew his feet. Once they get used to the size of your feet, they won't let anyone else wear them, unless you point your wand here," and she indicated a small red spot on the bottom of the left shoe. "So you should be safe to wear them here, as well as at school."

"These are brilliant, Rose. Thank you. I- wow." He felt overwhelmed; for the first time, he had brand new trainers of his own.

Rose seemed to realize what he felt, and also that he was too uncomfortable to say it, for she patted his shoulder and said simply, "I'm glad. Now," she looked around brightly, "Shall we eat?"

Harry hadn't had such a feast since he left Hogwarts. They sat cross-legged on the floor and ate slices of pizza laden with toppings, washing it down with the lemonade, which was fizzy and which squeaked when you drank it. "Got it at Florean Fortescue's," Rose explained when Harry blinked in surprise.

"Where are the ice lollies from?" Harry asked.

"Tesco," said Rose, and they both laughed. When they had finished their pizza and lemonade, Rose opened the bakery box. Inside was a perfect, brown, fragrant-

"Treacle tart!" Harry yelped. "That's my favorite!"

"I know," Rose answered, as she deftly cut the tart into eighths with a plastic knife, "Thanks to Ron."

"You're in touch with Ron?" Harry asked.

Rose looked uncomfortable. "Yes," was all she said, but Harry could tell there was something she wasn't telling him.

The desperation he'd had for information seemed to rear up from some forgotten place in his mind, and he blurted out, "What's going on with Voldemort? I know he's doing something, and I know Dumbledore's working against him. What is happening, Rose? I _know_ you know," he added, accusingly.

Rose didn't speak right away. She looked terribly unhappy, which seemed to confirm Harry's suspicion that she was not at liberty to act as she wanted. Then she said, "Listen, Harry. I know how frustrating this summer must be for you. You must feel you're going mad; I don't blame you. But I need you to understand: the things that Dumbledore and others are doing right now are being done in strict secret. They _must_ be."

"Why do they have to be a secret from _me?_ " Harry demanded. "I was the one who saw Voldemort return. I was there when he murdered Cedric, I was there when Pettigrew cut off his own hand. It's _my_ blood he used to come back, so why can't _I_ know how we're fighting him?" Without meaning to, he'd been raising his voice, so that it was nearly at a shout when he finished his speech.

"You don't have to persuade me, Harry," Rose said gently. "I know what you've been through, and what you've done. I know you've been placed in the center of this fight, whether you want to be or not."

"I _do_ want to be," Harry said, making an effort to lower his voice this time. "I want to fight. So what, I'm just supposed to go back to school and do Charms homework and take my O.W.L.s like none of this happened? Does Dumbledore think I'm a child?" Harry demanded angrily.

"Not at all," Rose answered. She shifted her position on his floor, stretching her legs out in front of her now and alternately pointing and flexing her toes while she seemed to consider her words. "Dumbledore has a great deal of respect for you. So do I. So does anyone who's met you, Harry, you're really quite extraordinary." She looked at him with affection for a moment before continuing. " _Soon,_ Harry, you'll be told what we can tell you about how we're opposing Voldemort. Soon. Until then, I'm afraid, you just have to trust. Trust that we are fighting him. Trust that Dumbledore has a reason for what he does. Just like I have to do. Do you believe that?" Rose fixed her green eyes, so like his own, on his face and waited.

Harry looked back at her for a moment. Then, he sighed noisily and flopped back onto his floor with a _thump._ "I suppose," he muttered, knowing he was not going to get anything better from her today. Rose smiled down at him and tousled his hair. "I know it's hard."

Harry closed his eyes. She was still treating him like a frustrated child, he thought, whatever she said. _It's just my age_ , he thought bitterly. _'m underage, so I'm a kid. I have to be sheltered. Protected, even from having information I might need when Voldemort finds me again._ "Voldemort doesn't care how old I am," he said aloud.

"I'm sorry?" said Rose, clearly taken aback.

"Voldemort didn't care that I was underage when he summoned me to that graveyard. He didn't care that I was underage when he tried to get Quirrell to kill me when I was eleven. And," Harry could feel an angry flush rising in his face, but he didn't care, "he definitely didn't care that I was underage when he tried to kill me in Godric's Hollow."

"I-" Rose looked uncertain, then plunged on. "I don't think it's about your being underage, Harry."

Harry looked up at her. Didn't she _know_ what this was about? "What do you mean?"

"I mean I think Professor Dumbledore wants to keep you from knowing everything for another reason. I don't _know_ , Harry. He hasn't told _me_ everything either, you know," Rose said, a slight bite to her voice. "But from what I gather, his reasons have nothing to do with your age, or your ability. If that helps anything."

"It does." Harry frowned. It was occurring to him for the first time that summer that Dumbledore might have secrets from other people than himself, and that he, Harry, might not be the only person who didn't like that. "I didn't mean to take it out on you, Rose," he said, after a moment.

"It's all right," she said quietly. "I expected you to feel this way." She crossed her legs under her and faced him then. "This isn't much like a party," she said, suddenly blithe. "What is there to do around here?" She handed him a fork and a plate with a fat wedge of treacle tart on it.

"Cheers," said Harry, accepting it gratefully. "And there isn't much to do, I'm afraid." He put a forkful of tart into his mouth and sighed happily. It tasted wonderful.

Rose was looking around his room, studying it. "So, they gave you this room after they let you out from under the stairs?"

"Yeah, it was Dudley's toy room before. Still got some of his broken toys in the closet, as a matter of fact. I don't really unpack that much while I'm here, so…" he trailed off, and put another bite of tart into his mouth.

Rose wasn't eating tart; she seemed more interested in the contents of his room. She got to her feet and examined the assortment of broken toys in the closet. "What's this?" she asked, holding up Dudley's broken Playstation.

"It's Dudley's playstation. He smashed it last summer. Threw it out the window, in fact. It was spectacular," Harry smiled, remembering the noise it had made.

"He didn't let you play it, though?" Rose asked shrewdly.

"Me?" Harry scoffed. "Nah, that wasn't likely." He continued to eat the treacle tart hungrily, and, as Rose didn't seem inclined to cut herself a slice, he cut himself a second piece.

Rose was rummaging around in the back of the closet, now. Suddenly she sat back on her heels and clapped her hands. "There's a television too!" she said happily.

Harry scratched his head. "Yes, but that's broken as well," he said. "Everything in there will be bro-"

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Rose interrupted. She dragged the television out and grinned at him over her shoulder. "I don't have to abide by The Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery, after all." She pointed her wand in the direction of the television and twisted it slightly with her wrist. " _Reparo."_

The glass on the television's monitor instantly sprang together. Rose did the same thing in the direction of the Playstation, and the plastic immediately assumed its original shape, the controllers leaping out of the closet to rejoin the cords. "Now we just need to plug everything in, I think," Rose knelt and began holding up cords, apparently trying to work out how they fit together. Harry knelt down beside her and together they plugged in the power cords, fitted the Playstation's display and sound cords into the appropriate places on the television, and turned on the power switches.

Harry punched his fist in the air as the words _Motor Tune Grand Prix!_ appeared on the screen and the familiar music began to play. He seized a controller and looked at Rose. "I don't really know how to play it," he warned her.

She picked up a controller and scooted next to him. "Then we're evenly matched. Come on!"

Harry and Rose occupied the next hour racing their wide-eyed cars against each other. Harry learned faster than Rose; he suspected he had played more computer games in his lifetime than she had. But she just threw back her head and laughed each time he beat her, and demanded another game. He could not remember having so much fun at Privet Drive before. After an hour, they took a break to snack, and then put in _Tekken_ and tried to make sense out of it. It was a fighting game, and more complex than _Motor Tune Grand Prix._ Again, Harry grasped the game more quickly, but again, Rose seemed delighted just to play. "I've always wanted to play on one of these things," she confided. "The American Muggle Liaison had one, and all my higher-ups got to have a go."

"They didn't let you play?" Harry asked, indignantly.

Rose chuckled. "I had to translate." When they finished another round, at which neither of them performed very well, Harry suggested they break open the ice lollies.

As promised, Rose stayed the day with Harry. They took a walk around the neighborhood, and Harry found he rather enjoyed having someone to show around. At the playground, from a distance, Harry was able to point out Dudley, surrounded by a knot of his friends and fellow bullies. They were in the act of surrounding a child who looked around eight, but the sight of Harry and Rose on the walking path caused Dudley to gesture suddenly to his friends. They all left the park in a hurry. Rose sighed once, then shrugged. "Maybe someday I'll meet him properly," she said.

After they had cleaned up from what Rose kept calling the "party," and when they could hear Petunia in the kitchen beginning to prepare dinner, Rose secured her wand in her handbag and said she would have to be on her way. "I've got to get back before six," she said, looking at a slender wristwatch. 

"Right," Harry responded. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down. "Thanks. This has been my best birthday so far. Next to my eleventh, I mean."

"I had so much fun, Harry," Rose said, earnestly. Before opening her car door, she leaned forward and gave Harry a brief hug. Harry was surprised to find that he didn't mind this at all.

On his way back into the house, Harry was cheered by a sudden thought: Dudley did not know that his Playstation and television were now working. And if he was careful, Harry thought, smiling to himself, he could keep it that way.


	11. Third Flower Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Underground

 **A.N. You'll notice the frequency of updates will decrease a bit over the next few weeks. I have a big project due in mid-March! I'll try make sure I update weekly at least until then. Don't worry! I have a long game for this story.**

"We're going to need to get Potter out," Mad-Eye Moody announced, instantly silencing the ten Order members who they'd managed to assemble on short notice.

Even after sitting through almost a dozen meetings with him, Rose still felt her skin prickle when she looked at the man. Polyjuice potion or no, that was the face which had been threatening Harry when she burst into his office at Hogwarts, and Rose could still not be comfortable in his presence.

Moody continued, pacing in the manic way he had. "There's nothing else for it. His Muggle relatives threatening to throw him out, Dementors out of control, the Ministry gagging for an excuse to silence him, he's just got to get out. Got to come here. And he can't do it alone. Not with the Ministry on the Floo and the Portkeys and the Knight Bus too, for all we know."

He crossed his arms over his burley chest and gazed at them appraisingly. "I'm looking for a team of volunteers. We apparate in, fly out on brooms. I hear Potter's a decent flyer."

"Better than decent," Rose affirmed, just as Sirius said, "He's excellent." They caught one another's eye, and then looked away.

"It may well be dangerous," Moody cautioned. "Death Eaters may ambush us, or the Ministry may send someone to interfere. We'll have to stay hidden. We'll fly no matter the weather, and I hear we're expecting some rain, maybe worse. This will not be a comfortable evening. So. Who's willing to fly with us?"

He looked up, and Rose saw a look of mild surprise cross his face. Every hand in the room was raised, including that of Sirius, who had been forbidden to leave headquarters. But Moody's expression quickly changed to grim satisfaction, and he nodded once. "Good," he said. "The more, the better. We leave on Sunday evening. Best wait for nightfall; we need all the cover we can get. Now, we'll need to get those Muggles he lives with out of the house. Anyone have any ideas? We can't do anything that would raise the Ministry's suspicion, mind. What would draw these Muggles out of their house for a couple of hours?"

There was a silence. Then, slowly, Rose's hand creeped into the air. "I might have an idea," she said.

Despite Moody's doleful prediction, Sunday did not look like rain. The morning dawned as bright and clear and hot as the rest of the summer had been. After a simple breakfast, which Molly prepared without the help of Kreacher, Rose was sitting in the blue bedroom, mapping out the course she was to teach at Hogwarts. Sirius had appeared in her doorway and, nothing daunted by her busy scratching on her parchment, had thrown himself dramatically onto her neatly made bed.

"It's just ridiculous that I can't come. The whole point of the mission is secrecy. We're going to be disillusioned, we're going to be under cover of night, and we're going to be ready to throw spells at anyone who tries to stop us. If the Ministry catches any of us absconding with Harry, we're probably under arrest anyway." Sirius threw out his arms in exasperation.

Rose sighed and underlined the heading she'd just written. "Yes, Sirius, but if _you_ are caught absconding with Harry you will _definitely_ be arrested and sent immediately back to Azkaban."

"You don't think I can fight my way through those Ministry toads?" Sirius scoffed.

"I'm sure you can, but you must see Dumbledore's point of view. It's a question of comparative risk. If we lose you to Azkaban, we lose you, and Headquarters, and we endanger the Order because Kreacher will be at liberty to join your cousins." Rose gestured impatiently with her quill.

Sirius snorted. "Yes, you've probably summarized it well enough there. It's all about assets with Dumbledore. Never mind that I'm losing my mind not being able to leave, never mind that Harry would want me to come-"

"But this is war, Sirius!" Rose gave up trying to write more and turned to face him. She looked at him, his face set in a scowl, his hair wild on the blanket, his body twitching with energy. "And anyway," she added, her voice softening a little, "Do you really value your freedom so little? Do you really think you're expendable? Because I don't." His body suddenly stilled and he looked at her searchingly for a moment. "And neither does Harry," she added hastily.

"I'm not providing any benefit to Harry," Sirius said bitterly. "I haven't been _allowed_ to do much of anything for him. Dumbledore's been there to stop me ever since I fetched him out of the rubble of his nursery."

Rose got up and hastily closed the door; Sirius had a tendency to blurt out personal invective without regard to who might be there to overhear. She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, near his spreading hair. "Harry loves you," she said matter-of-factly. "It's obvious every time he mentions you."

"I wish I could do half of what you've done for him in just the past two months," Sirius said. He was staring into space, but he looked at her briefly as he spoke.

"You have done things for him that I will never be able to do." Rose told him. "You've given him someone to admire, someone to laugh with, someone he can trust above any adult in his life. You've given him a connection to his father that he desperately wants. You've given him the truth, when he couldn't get it from anyone else. Don't put all that in jeopardy because you're restless, Sirius. You're better than that."

Sirius was watching her closely now, his gray eyes looking unusually focused, considering what she had said. The abruptly, he grinned. "You're right as always, Mademoiselle," he said. "I'm being selfish." He sat up and looked at her again. "Who will give me these reasonable speeches when I'm being a muling prat once you're back at Hogwarts, eh?"

"I'll come and visit, of course I will!" Rose answered with a light flush. "I get two weekends off per month. I can't let you forget how to play Disappearing _Coinche_ , can I?" She grinned at the delighted looked on Sirius' face.

"I might even learn to cook, in that case," Sirius said, springing to his feet. "Speaking of, let's see if we can repeat that trick and get Kreacher to make more Croque-Monsieur. I'm starving!"

The first days following Harry's rescue were filled with activity. After that first night, in which Harry had finally been told as much information about the doings of the Order as Rose could wish (and a great deal more than Molly Weasley could wish), Rose had had few opportunities to speak with him beyond basic pleasantries. At first, Rose was kept busy with the cleaning tasks that Molly was setting them all.

While the young people were charged with de-doxying the drawing room, Rose and Sirius were to tackle an infestation of Chizpurfles in the bedrooms. Some were clinging to the few cauldrons that could be found in some bedrooms, but after some careful detection, the majority were found to be attached to Buckbeak's feathers. Rose, having tied an old sheet around her robes to make an apron and a cloth around her mouth to combat the fumes, set to work, scrubbing cauldron bottoms with the magical pesticide potion and a rough rag. She had been working for around an hour when she heard a sound of dismay coming from Sirius' room. "Oh, sod it! Merlin's piss, they're all over in here." Rose, happy for an excuse to take a break, went into his room to find him kneeling on the floor in front of his closet.

Sirius looked up as she entered. "It's fine, nothing I can't handle. I'm just irritated. This record player was about the only thing I liked in his house, and it's completely infested. Chizpurfles love Muggle stuff like this." He pushed his hair back into the rag which he was using to cover his head and rolled up the sleeves of his robe grimly.

Rose crouched down next to him and looked closely at the device. Sure enough, a fine line leading to the electrical wire plug revealed the path of the Chizpurfles into the device. Rose looked up at Sirius, frowning. "How do you get it to work, anyway? I thought the electricity on these Muggle devices wouldn't work with so much magical interference."

"Oh, there are always ways of getting around that," said Sirius, waving a hand dismissively. "James and I made this impervious to magical environments years ago. Gave us a lot of good times in Gryffindor tower, this did. We were the only house singing Queen songs after Quidditch matches, I'll wager."

"I wish I'd known you could do that," Rose said, regretfully. "I'd have told Harry to bring the Playstation with him."

"The what?" Sirius was puzzled.

"Never mind," Rose said, sitting back on her heels. "But I think we could still save this. If we can scrub the infestation out of the plug, and repair the damage, you could probably play your Queen albums again."

"It's not worth it," Sirius shook his head. "We need to clean the house, not salvage my toys."

"Toys are important," Rose insisted. "Besides, if we leave this lot here," motioning to the line of Chizpurfles on the wooden turntable, "they'll just spread and re-infest the house. The trick will be to get them out of this crevice here. I think I've got an old makeup brush that will do it. I'll get it, and why don't you move on to treating Buckbeak's feathers?"

They both did as she suggested. After about 30 minutes, Rose felt confident that the infestation was gone and the damage was repaired. "It should work now, Sirius!" she called into the room where Sirius was treating Buckbeak.

"Steady, now, steady," he was saying to the rankled Hippogriff. "I've just got to get under your wing here." To Rose he shouted, "You're a marvel!" which made her go slightly pink.

"So how do you make it work? There are no electrical outlets in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," she pointed out.

"Hang on, I've got it." Sirius came bounding into his room and leaned over to touch the end of the cord with his wand. He mattered something Rose did not catch, and the turntable began turning.

"I ought to go into Muggle artifact repair," Rose said proudly, while Sirius rummaged around in his closet and retrieved a record. It had a variety of animals on the front of the cover, and _A Day at the Races_ was written in script in the center. Sirius took the record out of the cover and flipped it over before putting it on the turntable and placing the needle on the edge. An energetic tune, reminding Rose of early American jazz, began to resound from the speaker.

"Care to dance?" he asked, casually.

"I don't know how to dance to this," Rose admitted, though she stood up at once.

"Oh, it's nothing for you. You just step back and then forward, on the downbeat. Like this," and he pulled her into a closed position while he demonstrated. Rose learned readily enough- she had always learned new dances quickly- and soon they were dancing energetically around the room to the playful, syncopated music. Rose was laughing- she hadn't had this much fun since the Yule Ball- and Sirius was grinning and singing along with the high-voiced singer.

Within a couple of minutes, they were joined by Harry, Ron, and Ginny, no doubt drawn by the sudden loud music coming from upstairs. Sirius stepped a bit more energetically then, _trying to show off for Harry,_ Rose thought, amused. She had no trouble following his lead, though, and soon the young people were grinning and clapping along as Rose and Sirius danced. When the song ended, Sirius bowed theatrically to the applause of the teenagers. Rose was flushed and smiling, but her smiled faded instantly when Mrs. Weasley thrust her head into the doorway with an irritated expression.

"If we're done with our break, everyone, there _really_ is a lot to do! We still have plenty of doxies to manage in the dining room!"

"Yes, of course, Molly," Rose said apologetically as Harry, Ron and Ginny hurried from the room. Harry threw them a backwards look and grinned. Sirius winked at him. When everyone else had left, Rose nodded after Molly. "She really doesn't like me," she said, anxiously.

"Nah, it's me she doesn't like." Sirius ran his fingers through his hair and rolled his eyes. "She still can't forgive me for having been in Azkaban. Afraid I'll give her kids ideas, I reckon."

"Well, you did try very hard to commit the crime you were imprisoned for, Paddy," Rose teased him. "Perhaps she's not wrong to be wary."

"Just for that, you can hold Buckbeak's wing for me," he answered.

The cleaning campaign was ongoing. But, the next day, Rose had to leave it to the rest of them. Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived to dinner that night with a request. It seemed that in the course of their work for the Ministry they had met a set of French and Spanish Aurors who seemed receptive to the reality of Voldemort's return. Gaspard Poitevin and Valeria Marin had agreed to meet with them in a neutral space in Muggle London. "Given the potential language barrier," Kingsley had explained in his measured way, "and the need to conform to Muggle expectations during the meeting, your presence, Miss Evans, might be invaluable."

"I will certainly come and do all that I can," Rose replied, "but my Spanish is conversational at best."

"That will suffice," Kingsley assured her. "Marin really speaks very good English, but we want to show her every respect all the same."

So Rose donned her tidiest Muggle blouse and trousers and was ready to set off the following day. The Order had selected Kingsley, Rose, and Bill Weasley for the task, as these were the most comfortable blending in to the Muggle world. Bill did require a demonstration in order to swipe his Travelcard the correct way round before boarding their train, but their commute to the restaurant was otherwise seamless.

The two foreign aurors were quite friendly, though guarded.

"Our business is with the English Ministry of Magic," Gaspard Poitevin explained, using Rose as a translator. His English was by far the weakest of the two. Poitevin stroked his moustache with a bent finger. "We must maintain friendly relations with the British Auror office, and with the Ministry in general. But if indeed it is as you say, and _Celui-dont-on-ne-doit-pas-prononcer-le-nom_ is back-" he sat back and puffed out a long exhalation, "then this is an issue of international security."

Kingsley waited until he had caught Rose's eye before responding, to be sure she was ready to translate. "The Ministry's leadership, we fear, is giving _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ a great gift by refusing to acknowledge his return. Already he is gathering followers, and he grows more powerful under the Ministry's awareness. Just days ago, the Dementors of Azkaban carried out an attack in a Muggle neighborhood, a suburb of London, and we fear they will soon be completely beyond Ministry control."

Both Poitevin and Marin sat up at the mention of the Dementor attack. Marin's eyes widened. Poitevin breathed, " _Sainte,"_ and then said, _"Comment votre ministère a-t-il réagi à l'attaque?"_

"He wishes to know how the Ministry responded to the attack," Rose translated.

"Minister Fudge denies that the attack occurred," Kingsley replied. "The attack was against Harry Potter- you have perhaps heard of him?"

Both Aurors nodded. "Of course," Marin acknowledged, " _El niño que sobrevivió_ ; even in Spain his story is told. So the Ministry refuses to protect him?"

Bill answered this time. "The Ministry has called him in on a disciplinary hearing," he said, with a wry smile, "which pretty well summarizes their attitude."

"We realize that this reality may be hard to accept, with so few witnesses and with the Ministry giving it no credence," said Kingsley, "but The Order of the Phoenix, which Albus Dumbledore has recently recalled, is growing daily. We want to put you on your guard, first and foremost, and we had also hoped to secure some help from any foreign Aurors who are willing." He paused for Rose to finish her translation.

She listened to Poitevin's response, and then addressed Kingsley and Bill. "He says he has a great deal of respect for Dumbledore, and that if nothing else, Dumbledore's friendship with the late Nicholas Flamel would be a recommendation. He will do what he can."

"As will I," Valeria Marin promised, in accented but fluent English. "And we have seen many governments, both Muggle and Wizarding, who ignore or cover up the activities of Dark Wizards. Alas, the situation is far from unique."

Bill and Kingsley were very encouraged as the three Order members made their way back to headquarters that evening. "They were more receptive than most British Wizards we've tried to convince," Bill said quietly, leaning forward to talk over the Tube seats that separated him from Kingsley and Rose. "And British wizards remember the first wizarding war far better!"

"But British wizards also have more to lose, should our account prove true," Kingsley replied in an undertone.

The afternoon was very instructive for Rose, who had often felt that the rest of the Order rather held her in suspicion. She understood that, being young and relatively inexperienced, she would not often be chosen for the most high-stakes missions. But as her only involvement so far had been to sit vigil at the Hall of Prophecy doors, Rose could not help but wonder how much she was trusted. Bill and Kingsley, however, being exactly her age, had not been involved in the last war either. Their conversation on the return journey was collegial, if not yet familiar, and Rose sat a little taller at the next Order meeting the following day.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be slouching lower each time she saw him. His hearing was approaching, and Rose could tell that, for all the encouragement he was receiving from Order members and his friends alike, his dread was increasing. After dinner one evening, just two days before the hearing, Rose stopped at Harry's doorway on the way to her own room. "There he is," she announced in a carrying voice, "Harry Potter, Reigning _Motor Tune Grand Prix_ Champion!"

Harry turned at her voice and grinned. He raised his arms over his head like a boxer as Ron laughed, and Hermione frowned. "You and your aunt were playing video games, Harry?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah, she fixed Dudley's Playstation. It was brilliant." Harry chuckled. "I was telling Ron and Hermione that you're going to be teaching at Hogwarts, Rose. They're really pleased."

"I'm planning to ask Professor McGonagall if I can take your course instead of Muggle Studies," Hermione said excitedly. "I think it sounds wonderful. It's really shameful how little English wizards know about international affairs. This lot didn't know anything about the other Wizarding schools before last year." Hermione frowned critically at Harry and Ron.

"It doesn't really come up," Ron shrugged. "Anyway, I'm glad they don't have you teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts." He seemed unsure what to call Rose, so he gestured in her direction. "Word is, the job's cursed. Whoever's teaching that this year's likely to meet a hard fate before next year."

"How odd," Rose said, frowning. "Last year… oh my, last year your Defense teacher was-" she stopped and felt her mouth open.

"You disarmed him, stepped on him, and tied him up," Harry agreed. "Yeah."

"Who was your teacher before the false Moody?" Rose asked.

"It was Remus Lupin," Hermione sighed. "He was the best we've had; it was a real shame that he had to leave. But as it turned out, he was a-"

"A werewolf," Rose supplied, still in a state of wonder. "Remus Lupin was your teacher? But this is marvelous! He would have been perfect, of course; how was it he was dismissed? I assume someone must have learned the truth-?"

"Snape," Harry said, darkly. "Snape kept it a secret the whole year, then told anyone who would listen that he was a werewolf after the night we saw him transform. Lupin was forced to quit before Dumbledore would have to sack him."

"Severus did that?" Rose was aghast. "When he knew all year? _Severus_ cost Remus his job?"

"Yup," said Ron. "He's had it in for Lupin and Sirius since they were at Hogwarts together. He's not going to miss an opportunity to do one over on anyone who was friends with Harry's dad."

"He was really very cruel about it," Hermione said seriously.

At Rose's request, the three of them filled her in on the events that had led up to Peter Pettigrew's return to Voldemort, Sirius' escape, and Lupin's resignation from his post.

"And Fudge was just going to let the Dementors kiss Sirius right there?" Rose asked, nauseated. "When he never had a trial in the first place?"

"And Snape was all for it," Harry told her, his voice unsteady with anger. "He said he wanted to watch."

Rose sat down on Harry's bed. She was breathing rather fast. _This is the man who was Lily's friend? This is the man I danced with so happily at the Ball at Hogwarts? This is a man I must make my colleague, and who purports to support the Order of the Phoenix?_ She was transported with horror for a moment, and then noticed them all staring at her. "I'm sorry, I suppose I'm just- rather disappointed."

"So was Snape," Ron nodded. "He was going to get an Order of Merlin for Black's capture."

"I suppose this explains why Sirius laughed when I asked if Snape had been his friend," Rose said weakly. She knew she needed to consider this revelation on her own, at length. To change the subject, Rose asked, "Did you get my note on August 2nd, Harry? The night of the attack in Little Whinging?"

"Yeah, I did," Harry said, sitting down on the floor next to Ron. "Two official disciplinary notices from the Ministry, messages from Sirius and Mr. Weasley that I was not to leave Privet Drive, and yours: 'Well done, Harry, I'm so proud. Wish I'd been there to see it.'" Ron and Hermione laughed. "Everyone else was acting like I'd broken curfew." Harry continued, running his hands through his hair in apparent exasperation.

"There was a great deal of chaos that night," Rose explained. "Mundungus interrupted an Order meeting to tell us what had happened, and Dumbledore and Arthur left for the Ministry almost immediately afterward. Everyone was a bit panicked; there was talk of the Ministry trying to expel you immediately and destroy your wand."

"Yeah, that was the first owl I got," Harry scowled. He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the memory of that night. "Hey, Rose," he asked suddenly. "Mrs. Figg said I had people trailing me all summer. Were you one of them?"

"No," Rose answered. "That mission was never offered to me." She felt this sounded too resentful, for she added, "Not that I would have agreed to it. I knew how you'd feel about Wizards watching you in secret when you couldn't even get any proper news."

Harry looked grateful. Then Rose added, in a smaller voice, "I wouldn't have been much help to you anyway. I've never been able to conjure a Patronus, myself."

"You can't?" Harry asked in astonishment. "But you're so good at defense spells!"

"I am good at dueling," Rose admitted, "But I've never been able to produce more than silver vapor when I've tried the Patronus Charm. My _Contre_ teacher said very few wizards can produce them, and that those of us who could not, lacked the ability to access a sufficiently powerful source of joy. I'd come a long way since Lily- since my first year. But still, I just can't find the right thing to concentrate on. I was _so_ proud of you, though," she said warmly, looking straight at Harry, "for being able to produce a Patronus, under those conditions, after what you've been through. Maybe someday you can teach me? In exchange for a lesson in French profanity, perhaps?"

Harry grinned at her. "Yeah, sure, maybe." He rolled over onto his stomach to watch Ron idly shuffling a deck of Exploding Snap cards. Hermione, cross-legged in the corner, was becoming absorbed by a book. They sat in quiet for a moment, and Rose was just beginning to think she should had intruded on the young people for long enough, when Harry spoke, hesitantly. "Rose?"

"Harry?" she returned, smiling encouragingly.

He looked agitated. "What do you think- if the hearing, if it- doesn't go well, what do you think I should do? I mean, they'll probably destroy my wand right there, knowing Fudge, so-"

"I think you will not give them a chance to do anything of the sort," Rose responded firmly. "Harry, in that extremity, don't you dare give over your wand. You fight your way out, do you hear? We'll be on our alert to help you. I'll become an outlaw before I let Cornelius Fudge touch your wand," Rose said fiercely. Ron and Hermione were staring at her.

Harry, too, looked surprised at her fervor, but he nodded. "I'll be ready," he said, lifting his chin.

Rose felt pride swell within her as she looked at him. "I don't think you need to worry," she added. "Dumbledore is at work in all of this, even though you don't see him. He's got your back. We all do. I hope you never have to fight your way out of the Ministry of Magic without him, Harry."


	12. Third Flower Chapter 13

Chapter 13: New Shoots

Once they arrived at Platform 9 ¾, Rose kept a careful distance away from the young people and the Order members who had come along, for extra security. She had decided, on her nearly sleepless night before, that this would be best for all involved.

For a cluster of reasons, Rose thought it would be best if the students of Hogwarts did not all know her to be Harry's aunt. She wasn't entirely sure why, but she felt sure that anything she wished to do either for Harry or for the Order would be easier to accomplish if her relation to him was not widely known. She also suspected she would have an easier time establishing credibility as a teacher if she was not known to be related to one of the students. And anyway, Rose felt instinctively that Harry would have an easier time, socially, if she kept her distance.

For this reason, though Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny stayed behind to say their goodbyes to Lupin, Moody, and Tonks, Rose gave Harry one backward glance, smiled slightly, and sped up to board the train ahead of them. She had said goodbye to Sirius before he'd transformed into the black dog that was now scampering merrily around the platform.

"I will miss you, Paddy," she'd confessed to him in the kitchen during a stolen moment that morning.

"Not as much as I will miss you, Mademoiselle!" he had responded. His tone was light, but she saw the resignation and melancholy in his eyes at the prospect of his house emptying out. She had leaned toward him then and kissed his stubbly cheek, then quickly departed the kitchen before he'd had a chance to react.

Now, as she made her way toward the steps onto the Hogwarts Express for the very first time, she suddenly lost her balance as the shaggy black dog that Sirius had become knocked her sideways. Rose bit back the laughing remark she'd wanted to make, remembering the need to keep Sirius' identity secret. Instead, she bent down and stroked the dog's ears, saying in French, "You delightful creature! How I shall miss you." The dog reached his nose up and licked her cheek, so that Rose began the journey to Hogwarts contemplating exactly how much of human thought and intention was preserved in a person's Animagus form.

None of the other teachers took the Hogwarts Express. She had learned at the staff meeting two weeks before that those who did not live in the castle full time generally arrived one to two weeks early for the term. However, it was decided that a member of The Order of the Phoenix should probably be aboard the train, "just in case," as Moody had said, darkly. Rose was quite happy to volunteer, for she felt a curiosity for all things related to Hogwarts, for Harry's sake and for Lily's. The train ride was scenic, and uneventful. Prefects did their rounds as they were instructed to do; Rose caught a glimpse of Hermione and Ron, badges shining on their robes, passing by her compartment. They did not see her.

Rose did not see Harry again until she made him out at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for the welcome feast. He was leaning forward, speaking in close confidence with Ron and Hermione, and stealing glances at the witch who would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts that year. Harry's eyes fell on Rose briefly, and his expression relaxed momentarily from its frown. Rose gave a tiny nod that she hoped no one else would notice. It was her intention to avoid paying him public attention, though she planned to supply him with chocolate biscuits aplenty when he came to tea that weekend. "I want to have you to tea," Rose had told him the night before they had left, "But do you think your classmates will think it strange if you come to see me?"

"It doesn't matter. I can use my invisibility cloak," he'd replied, leaning against his door frame.

"You've got James' cloak?" Rose had exclaimed in delight. "I'm so glad. How did he manage to pass it on to you? The last I knew, Dumbledore had it."

"He did," said Harry, "But he passed it on to me first year."

"The times we've had in that cloak," Ron had sighed from inside the room he shared with Harry.

"I have no doubt you use it for only the best mischief," Rose had said, amused, and returned her eyes to Harry, who was grinning a crooked grin. She was beginning to see the resemblance to James which Sirius had spotted so easily. "Well, why don't you come to tea the Sunday afternoon after the first week of term?"

He had agreed, and Rose had gone to bed, satisfied that she would at least be able to see Harry on occasion. She would have that to look forward to in that cold, still largely unfamiliar castle.

Now in the Great Hall, Rose came out of her reverie and turned to Severus Snape, who sat next to her at the staff table. "How do you do, Severus," she said politely, though rather coldly. "I hope you enjoyed your summer." He merely made an non-committal noise and inclined his head toward her. Rose did not pursue further conversation. She had Harry's story of Snape's behavior to Lupin too firmly in her mind to wish to be friendlier than necessary to him.

She would not have had time to pursue a conversation with Snape, regardless, for at that moment Professor McGonagall strode over to a stool in front of the assembled first-years and placed an old-looking, patched hat upon it. Rose leaned forward, intrigued, as a rip in the hat opened up and it began to sing.

That first class had more students in than she had expected. Considering that her course was an elective, and considering that it was brand new and most students might be supposed to prefer more familiar options, Rose had anticipated 10-15 students at the most in that first hour. But sitting before her, uniformed, hair combed with first-day fastidiousness were 26 fifth, sixth, and seventh year students. Most of them were not, of course, familiar to her, though she did smile to see Hermione Granger in the first row. She was also shocked by the presence of Fred and George Weasley, sitting in the back and smirking at each other from time to time. From the brief acquaintance she had had with them at Grimmauld Place, they did not strike her as students who would wish to challenge themselves with extra work. She wondered briefly, in the awkward silence after the students had all been seated and taken out their wands and quills, if the twins had signed up for her class because they thought it would be an easy grade. Oddly, this thought invigorated her, and she smiled at the assembled class.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Rose began firmly. "I am Professor Evans, and I am very pleased to see how many of you have chosen to study Studies in International Magical Issues this term. As this is the first time that Hogwarts' has included this course, I wonder if you have any curiosity about what we will be covering here."

Silence. The students merely stared at her. In the back of the room, George Weasley leaned his head on his chin and fixed her in a glassy stare.

She started again. "Studies in International Magical Issues will introduce you to different ways of learning and doing magic, and to other aspects of international magical culture that you might not encounter if you do not travel. If you travel, whether for pleasure or for career, you may need to know that wizards in America are forbidden to befriend Muggles. You will want to know why you must never wear white robes in Japan. You will need to recognize that in Africa, wandless people may still be doing magic. That in your trips to Durmstrang, you must never reveal it if you are Muggle-born. All this can make the difference between a successful encounter with a foreign wizard, or a catastrophic one."

As she had known it would, Hermione Granger's hand shot into the air at this. After a nod from Rose, Hermione said, "Please Professor, I know that Japanese wizards who study at Mahoutokoro have robes which change color. But what does white signify?"

"A white robe would indicate a wizard who has begun doing Dark Magic, or has otherwise committed an illegal magical act," Rose explained. Hermione nodded with wide eyes, and bent down to scribble rapidly into her notebook.

Rose continued, "But you do not have to travel to encounter other magical cultures. Just a little over a year ago, international magical relations was put to the test right here in Britain. Did anyone attend any portion of the Quidditch World Cup last August?"

A sea of hands went up. A majority of the class. Encouraged, Rose asked, "I was not in attendance, but did any of you see anyone doing magic differently? Or did you see anything from foreign witches or wizards that seemed unusual to you?"

One cautious hand was elevated. "Yes, Miss-?"

"Bell, Professor," said the dark-haired girl in Gryffindor robes. "I saw a man do an engorgement charm on a cooking pot using only his hand! He had no wand!"

"Indeed!" said Rose. "African Wizards who study at Uagadou learn magic without wands, although it it true that many have learned to use wands to enhance or focus their power in some ways. In North America, however, you would be advised not to make excessive use of a wand in meetings with indigenous American wizards. Not only do they not use wands, they view wands as symbols of European aggression."

Most of the class looked interested, though Rose could just catch Fred Weasley make a sudden gesture with his hands under his desk. She continued, stealing occasional glances at him, and moving slowly between the desks as she asked, "Did anyone else see a foreign wizard behaving in a way that seemed unusual at the World Cup?"

A black-haired Ravenclaw boy raised his hand now. "Please, Professor?"

"Yes? Mr-?"

"Davies, Professor. Roger Davies. Professor, I saw Russian Wizards riding around on trees, throwing a Quaffle around, between games!" Roger appeared to be anticipating her response with great excitement, as if this had been a mystery which had long distracted him.

Rose laughed. "Yes, those would likely be Russian wizards. At Koldovstoretz, quidditch is played on uprooted trees. I wish I could give you an explanation for why, but I cannot. I can, however, tell you that Russian wizards who switch to playing on brooms are at a great advantage over players who have not trained on trees. Flying tree-back requires enormous strength and focus, you see."

At last, Rose's vigilance in watching Fred Weasley paid off. At that moment, with a motion so subtle it would have escaped the notice of most of his classmates, a small parchment folded in the shape of a fish swam across in the room with a darting motion in the direction of a dreadlocked Gryffindor boy. Rose was ready for it. With her wand mostly concealed in her robes, Rose caused the paper fish to change its direction suddenly. Now the whole class was aware of the fish as it soared through the air, did three distinct loops, and began to attack the top of Fred's head. The class exploded with laughter. Even Fred was grinning as he fought the fish off. Rose strode over to him and plucked the fish off him with the hand that was not holding her wand. "Terribly _magical_ place, this, isn't It?" she remarked, casually.

Rose placed the fish in her robe pocket and looked down at Fred. She sensed that this moment was important. Letting Fred get away with even low-level mischief in class in the first week of class was simply not an option. She knew she could enter into a full on prank war with Fred, which, though entertaining, would rather distract from her course aims. Or-

"Mr. Weasley, why don't you help us with a demonstration," Rose said briskly. "Come on up to the front."

Fred followed her to the front of the classroom, smiling good-naturedly. "What are we doing, Professor?" he asked.

"We are going to give the class a demonstration of wandless magic today." Rose said firmly. "Please place your wand on my desk. No, don't worry," she added, at his look, "I won't touch it. You can have it back when we're done."

Fred obeyed, though with obvious reluctance. "I don't think I can do much of anything without a wand, Professor," he warned. "I didn't study at Uagadou, you see."

"That's quite all right, Mr. Weasley. I think you'll find you can do simple magic even without a wand. You have never been taught, but it is a simple matter of focusing your will on your hand as you say the incantation. Let's try something very basic. Give me a levitation charm on Miss Bell's quill, there. You're going to point your hand in the direction of the quill, with your fingers so-" she showed him the three-fingered point which the South African witch had showed her so many years ago. He copied her. "And when you say the incantation, visualize the power that usually flows through your wand, flowing instead through this finger," and she pointed to his middle finger. "Powerful finger, that one."

He laughed. She stepped back from him and said, "Are you ready? It might help to close your eyes. Ready? Steady? Go!"

Fred gestured with his hand and said, " _Wingardium Leviosa._ " Nothing happened. He dropped his hand and shrugged at Rose, who said, "Now, we don't give up that easily in this class. Try again. Straighten your elbow and direct your will through the finger I showed you."

Fred reached out his hand, closed his eyes, and gestured as she had shown him. This time, he chose to mutter the incantation quietly under his breath. The class waited in silence for several seconds until the quill suddenly gave a twitch, and then a jump, and then rose into the air several feet. Miss Bell began to clap, and soon the class was applauding Fred enthusiastically. He bowed, and started in the direction of Rose's desk, but Rose stopped him. "Why don't we try just one more thing." She turned to George in the back of the room and said, "Mr. Weasley? Why don't you try to summon your brother's wand?"

George was only too happy to oblige. With his twin at the front of the room, hands in his pockets, George stood and raised his fingers as Rose had directed. "Accio, Fred's wand!" he cried. The wand twitched. On his second effort, it soared into his waiting hand and he was greeted with as much applause as his brother had received.

Rose was smiling broadly. "Very good, very good! Take your seat Mr. Weasley, and thank you! Now you will be ready, should you meet with an indigenous American witch or wizard, to do simple spells without offending them by slashing your wand around. If you would, class, please divide into pairs and practice a wandless spell. You may do a Summoning or a Levitation charm, but please nothing that would distract any other groups," she stipulated, raising an eyebrow at Fred and George.

The class passed several enjoyable minutes summoning and levitating each other's possessions. Some students were unable to perform the spell without the use of a wand; Rose advised these to practice on their own. Other students were indeed making parchment float, or quills fly toward them, but were revealed to have their wands either in or extremely close to their hands. Hermione, however, wandlessly summoned Padma's quill on her first attempt, earning fifteen points for Gryffindor. Rose circulated around the room, making occasional comments, correcting finger positioning, and observing as students worked enthusiastically.

Rose called them to order again once most students seemed to have mastered the skill. "You learn quickly! Well done. If you were not able to perform a simple spell without a wand today, do not despair. I want you to practice for homework, however, as this will be a skill which I will assess later in the course. Now, we begin our study of International Magical Issues where Athena Campbell does in her textbook: with America. How many of you knew before today that in America, wizards and witches are not only forbidden from marrying Muggles, but from even befriending them?" Only a few hands were lifted into the air.

Rose nodded to acknowledge them. "There are many similarities between the wizards and witches trained at Hogwarts and those trained at Ilvermorny. However, their governing body, while representative, is starkly different from the British Ministry. This is really a difference of culture, which originates from a difference in their history."

Rose enjoyed the feeling of her students' complete attention as she narrated the origin of Rappaport's Law and the story of poor Dorcas Twelvetrees' indiscretion. When it was nearly time for class to conclude, she held up her copy of Athena Campbell's book. "For homework, you need to read the first chapter of _Magic The World Over,_ the chapter on American wizarding culture. Read it carefully, because in our next class we will have a graded discussion on the ethical issues involved in Rappaport's Law and the ban on Wizarding-Muggle relations in America. I need hardly emphasize," she added, looking in the eyes of one student after another with a serious a face as she could muster, "that we will speak of Muggles and Muggle-born witches and wizards with respect in this classroom. In our debate about the advisability of relationships with Muggles, we will not meander into offensive slurs or degrading remarks about them, is that clear?"

The room rang with responses of "Yes, Professor," and "We won't, Professor," and Fred and George Weasley's simultaneous, "Right-o." When the bell rang, students filed out, chatting with each other comfortably, though several of them nodded or smiled to Rose on their way out. "Goodbye, Professor!" said a few, or "Thank you, Professor Evans!"

As the last student left the room, and Rose exhaled in relief, she put her wand in her pocket and felt the tip of the paper fish she had confiscated from Fred Weasley. She withdraw the little fish, unfolded it, and smiled. The note read only, _Told you she was English_. _Three sickles, deliverable at lunch, sir._

There were really two ways to sneak out of Gryffindor Common Room wrapped in the invisibility cloak. You could wait until everyone else had gone to bed, pretend to study, outlast all others while struggling against the pull of your own eyelids. Or, you could pretend to go to bed early. In that case, you had to be sure you were the earliest, often pretending to turn in at 7 or 8:00 to be sure you'd find the boys' dorm empty. There were problems with this, too. First, you had to construct a convincing enough figure of your own sleeping body in your bed, using clothing, perhaps, or a rucksack. Then, you had to slip the cloak over your head and make your way back down the stairs in silence, and weave through the common room without bumping into anyone at all. This was a challenge, but more and more it was the challenge Harry preferred to fighting the advancement of sleep late into the night. Besides, he suspected Rose would prefer to have him for tea much earlier than the hour when Seamus was finally willing to bed.

Harry said a winking good night to Ron and Hermione at half past seven, and made the silent, careful return journey under the cloak just minutes later. When George and Lee pushed open the portrait to make a run to the kitchen, Harry was right behind them, slipping through before the portrait had swung shut.

Rose's office was in the dungeon; Harry suspected this was because she was new and had the least clout of all the staff. He couldn't imagine anyone, besides the sepulchral Snape, actually wanting to sleep and keep office hours in the cold, dim rooms beneath the castle. With the Slytherin common room in one end of the dungeons and Snape's office in the other, Harry felt as if he were in enemy territory every time he ventured down there. He made certain that his silence was absolute until he had actually arrived that the door Rose described when she'd caught him in a corridor on Friday. Harry took a moment to adjust the bandage he'd wrapped around what he'd begun referring to as his "detention hand," and then gave the quietest knock he could manage. The door opened instantly to admit him.

Despite the atmosphere in the dungeon, Rose's office felt cozy. There was a small fire in the grate, and a lamp burned on the bedside table. Harry pulled the cloak over his head and, as he placed it on the floor, noticed a low-pile blue rug with a white design covering the floor. Rose was reheating the teapot with her wand. She was wearing bedroom slippers with her day robe, and she looked sleepy, but she smiled warmly when she looked up at him. She walked over and put a cautious hand on his upper arm. "Harry. Good to see you. How are you?" She looked as if she was refraining from hugging him with difficulty.

Harry managed a small smile in return. "I'm all right. Was your week all right? How were your classes?"

She dropped her hand and moved to settle herself in her seat. "They were lovely," she replied, pouring the tea. "One milk, one sugar, wasn't it?"

"That's right." Harry sat in the comfortable small armchair across from her and accepted his cup. "Thanks. You should hear Hermione talk about your class." He raised his voice an octave and raised his eyebrows as he imitated her, "Ooh, Harry, I'm learning so much in Studies in International Magical Issues. Did you know, Libatius Borage was from Brazil? Did you know that Castelobruxo is protected by legions of spirit-beings?" He lowered his eyebrows and chuckled. "She's not the only one; everyone's saying it's a good class."

Rose looked pleased. "Thank you for telling me, Harry! That's encouraging. It did seem as though students were enjoying themselves, but of course, one can never tell." She passed a small tray of chocolate biscuits and Harry took one. When she kept her arm extended and raised her eyebrows, he grinned and took another. "How is quidditch?" Rose asked, setting the biscuits down again.

Harry groaned. "Disaster, actually. The Slytherins showed up to heckle us. Fred and George gave Katie a remedy for her bleeding nose that only made her bleed faster and almost pass out. Ron was-" he struggled for a description, finally settling on, "not on form yet."

Rose frowned in sympathy. "Oh dear, poor Ron. And, is that Katie Bell? I believe I have her in class."

"Yes, Katie Bell. She's a sixth-year." He took another sip of his tea. "I was hoping to write to Sirius, but I'm not really sure how to put this week into a letter. It was . . . probably the most rubbish first week I've had."

"Yes, so I hear. Detention every night, all week. For telling Professor Umbridge that Voldemort has returned, is what they're saying. Is it true?" She did not look angry, but rather, it seemed to Harry, a little bit amused.

"Er, yes. I didn't start it," he extenuated. "Everyone was asking her questions, because was saying she's not going to teach us any defensive magic at all. We just sit there in her class and read the bloody textbook. Excuse me," he added, scanning her face quickly to see if she looked offended at his language.

She shook her head, smiling wryly. "I'm not in a position to criticize, Harry."

"Well, anyway, it wasn't just me, everyone was having a go at her; she's ridiculous. She kept saying there wasn't any reason _children_ like us would need to use defensive spells. Everybody kept bringing up the O.W.L. practical, and defending the teachers we'd had before, and anyway, she finally said there was nothing waiting out there to get us. And I blew up. I'm SICK of it!" He suddenly raised his voice. "I'm SICK of people acting like all the shit that I've been through is made up. Like they know better. And I won't SIT there and let her lie to everyone."

"I don't blame you," Rose said. Her chin was on her hand and she was watching him closely.

"So I told her Voldemort was back, I told everyone that he murdered Cedric. And she took house points, and put me in detention for a week." He sat back in his chair and sighed heavily.

"What did she have you do?" Rose asked.

"Oh." Harry had been prepared for this, but he still shifted uncomfortably as he said, "Er, lines." He was not interested in seeing her response to the scars on his hand.

"Every evening, all week? On top of all your school work. Your poor hand." She glanced at his right hand, and then frowned. "Harry, what've you done to your hand?"

He automatically checked that the bandage was still covering his scars. "Er, quidditch yesterday."

"You really are having a terrible start to the year," Rose said, smiling slightly. "Un-bandage it for me, I'll get my kit."

"Nah, that's all right. It's not that bad. It'll heal up quick." He put his hand in his robe pocket and tried to smile in a reassuring way.

It didn't work. "Oh, don't be silly, Harry. What good is it to have an aunt in the school if you don't get some Dittany out of it when you're injured?" She leaned forward and stretched out her hand for his. "Come on, then, let's see it. What did you do?"

Harry wasn't sure why he did it. Maybe because it was becoming awkward to keep arguing with her. Maybe because he was curious about how it would be to have a family member caring for him in this way. But after meeting her eyes for a moment, he slowly withdrew his hand and let her remove the bandage.

As he knew she would, Rose gasped when she saw the scars stretching across the back of his hand: _I must not tell lies._ She held on to his hand for longer than Ron had. Harry watched her face whiten, and then slowly redden. Her nostrils flared then, and she suddenly released his hand to the desk and walked over to her tiny green-lit window.

Rose's hands were in fists and she was spitting French phrases in a shaking voice, of which " _Pute!"_ was the word he could most clearly make out. After a minute of what Harry assumed was fluent cursing, she stopped and merely breathed hard as she stared away from him.

Harry felt strangely warmed by her anger on his behalf. He appreciated, too, that she was making an effort to direct it away from him. Still, as the seconds increased he found he badly wanted to lighten the tension. Tentatively, he asked, "So when's my first French profanity lesson? Tonight, is it?"

She said nothing for a moment. Then she turned around. She was still flushed, but she wore a forced smile. "Lesson one: the modifier follows the noun." She sat down in her chair and looked at him directly. The smile soon vanished. "This is what you have been doing all week, then?" she asked. "Writing into your own skin?"

He nodded, and then said, "Please don't ask me to go to Dumbledore." He could hear how tired his own voice sounded.

"You don't think he'd be interested in hearing that one of his staff is torturing students?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry rubbed his his burning eyes behind his glasses. "He's got enough to do. And anyway, I'm really not sure what he can do. The entire Ministry's against him already."

Rose sighed. "Harry, I knew this woman was a beaurocrat, and you can never really trust those. But now we know her for what she is. She's an enemy. And she's proof that the Ministry has lost all decency. I have known governments to behave this way in the face of security threats, but frankly, those have always been governments with whom the French Ministry did not have diplomatic relations. This is . . . discouraging, to put in mildly." She looked at him for a long moment, and said in a lower voice, "We need to resist her. But we have to do it in a smart way. She has the power of the Ministry behind her and, apparently, no conscience."

"You want me to be good and keep my head down. I get it." Harry tried to keep the disgust out of his voice.

"Well," Rose responded, "Yes and no." She got up then and located her small brown, leather medical kit from a shelf behind her desk. "I obviously would rather you weren't cutting up your own hand under while that _pute_ watches you. But," and here she frowned and went quiet until she seemed to find the bottle she was looking for. "Essence of Murtlap. I'll measure some for you." She measured out a teaspoon or so of the yellow liquid and poured it into a smaller phial. She handed it to him and he took it, waiting for her to finish.

Rose resumed. "I want you to be safe, Harry, but I also want you to be sane. If you need to tell the truth to keep your sanity, then you do. You shouldn't be needlessly confrontational," she cautioned, looking at him with some severity, "but if you need to speak, well, you must. Now," and she went to her larder, removing a small blue bowl. "Fill this with water, warm if you can. And dissolve the myrtlap in it. You can soak your hand in your common room. Soothe the pain; help it heal. You'll only need a few drops. I included extra." _Just in case,_ her raised eyebrows seemed to say.

Harry was surprised and grateful not to hear words of caution and disapproval, for once. He opened his mouth to ask Rose if she could tell him anything about what the Order was up to, but then he caught sight of her mantel clock and noted the time: 9 o'clock. Reluctantly, he stood up. "I have to get back," he said. "Ron and I have homework we didn't get to."

Rose stood. "Of course. Here," and she moved to the tea table, quickly wrapping some chocolate biscuits in a napkin. "For Ron, and Hermione. You can carry them and the myrtlap and bowl under the cloak?"

Harry nodded. "Hey. Thanks. I'll come see you again."

"See that you do," she responded, smiling.

Harry retraced his steps to the boys' dormitory. Seamus was there, rifling through his belongings, before he triumphantly withdrew a bag of melted-looking cauldron cakes and dashed back out of the room. Harry counted out a minute, removed the invisibility cloak and stuffed it back into his trunk. He returned to the common room, rubbing his eyes to make a show of just having woken from a nap. Ron waved from the corner table and Harry slide into the chair across from him. "McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus essay, then?" he asked resignedly.

"I've already started," said Ron. "You can look at what I've got so far, but be warned: it's rubbish. How was tea with Rose?"

Harry thought for a second before responding, "You know? It was good. And oh!" He withdraw from his robe pocket the slightly crumbled biscuits. "She sent these for you and Hermione." He unwrapped them and placed them in the center of the table.

Ron sat up eagerly. "Brilliant! Oh, I needed this so badly. You have no idea. Bless you for having an aunt, Harry."

"Nice trainers, Harry!" Dean remarked as he passed their table.


	13. Third Flower Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Beneath the Bitter Snows

When the final bell sounded on Friday, ending the second week of classes, Rose gave a sigh of relief. Not that she had not been enjoying her lesson, which involved a review of Wizard-Muggle relations around the world, but she was greatly looking forward to the weekend. Being her first weekend without corridor duty or office hours, this was to be her first weekend to return to Grimmauld Place to see Sirius and the Order.

Officially, Rose was returning to her London flat. She was not to give an indication of her real destination; indeed, she could not, as she was not the secret-keeper for Grimmauld Place. Under "home address," in her school files, Rose had listed the address for the fourth flat she had considered, the flat which did not to exist in odd-numbered years. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, of course, would know where to find her.

Rose methodically gathered the assignments she had collected from the students that day, and was tidying up the room of the spare parchment and quills which students had left behind when a small school owl fluttered into the room. He carried a small note, and he settled on the table nearest Rose and stuck out his leg for her to remove it before she could approach him. "Thank you, little friend," she said softly as she unfastened the note. The owl hooted once and was gone, and Rose was left to read. The bottom of the parchment contained an embossed golden seal; on the top, in spreading calligraphy, were the words,

From The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

Rose's eyes narrowed as she read the text beneath this off-putting phrase. It read,

 _To Ms. Rose Evans, please be advised that, in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Two, all Hogwarts teachers shall be inspected by the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. Your inspection is hereby scheduled for Friday, September the 22nd. Your first class of the day will be inspected. Be prepared to answer whatever questions the High Inquisitor may choose to ask, and to give a lesson which provides an example of the quality of your usual teaching._

The note was signed Dolores Jane Umbridge, Hogwarts High Inquisitor. Rose sighed as she placed the notice on the top of the papers she had gathered. She had expected this; indeed, she was one of the last to receive her notice of inspection, as far as she could tell. As she locked the classroom and made her way to her little suite of rooms in the dungeon, walking rather more slowly and distractedly than usual, she mused about how she should meet this event. She knew better than to think she could merely give a strong lesson and meet this woman's approval. Everything she had observed and experienced of Dolores Umbridge told her the woman was unreasonable, myopic, and liable to get carried away with her own power at every opportunity. This challenge must be met with strategy.

A thought crossed her mind which alarmed her: what if Dolores Umbridge had learned of her relationship to Harry? Rose could not answer to herself exactly why this should be a concern, but Rose was certain that Umbridge would find a way to make malicious use of the information that Harry had an aunt at the school. _She won't find out from me,_ Rose thought vehemently. And this resolution in itself gave her the ghost of an strategy for her inspected lesson. Still, she put the question on the shelf for the time being. It was her first weekend off, and tonight, she would have dinner with Sirius.

The summer heat was finally at an end, even in London. Rose apparated into a gloomy drizzle on Grimmauld Place, so that she stepped hurriedly to the door of Number 12 once it appeared. Sirius himself answered it, a broad smile on his thin face. He welcomed her into a lit dining room, where a dark-colored stew was sending steam and enticing aromas toward the dusty chandelier. "I made it myself," Sirius said, by way of explanation.

"Well done!" Rose said approvingly. "Kreacher still won't cook for you?"

"Nah, but it's all right. I've had a lot of time to practice," he said dryly.

They passed a pleasant evening, lingering over the dinner to discuss the trivial details of Rose's first weeks teaching, then moving on to the sitting room for Exploding Snap. After three rounds and a lot of breathless laughter from Rose, for whom the novelty of exploding cards still hadn't worn off, they sat back in their chairs to talk and drink the wine which Kreacher had grudgingly brought.

Dolores Umbridge was the topic of conversation on which they lingered longest. "Harry tells me he's already had detention with her," Sirius remarked. "What'd he do, be Harry Potter in front of her?"

Rose shook her head. "It actually took more than that, believe it or not. The students were up in arms because she won't let them use magic in class, and she apparently told them there was no reason children like them should have to use defensive magic. This did not sit well with Harry, of course. He stood up and proclaimed the return of the Dark Lord and testified to the murder of Cedric for all to hear."

Sirius' eyes glinted. "Good for him."

Rose wondered privately if he'd still approve of Harry's behavior if he knew what Harry had been forced to do during his detention. She had resolved days ago not to tell Sirius that particular detail, however. _He would absolutely go spare,_ she thought, glancing at his eager, fiery face. Instead, Rose returned to the subject of Umbridge herself.

"Umbridge is the worst sort of bureaucrat, Paddy," she said. "I've met many like her, though none quite so ruthless. After only a week, she'd already appointed herself High Inquisitor of the school. She's making the rounds to inspect all the teachers. If you can believe it, she interrupted Professor Dumbledore during his opening remarks at the start-of-term feast! Gave a speech of her own, full of rot about how the Ministry's terribly concerned with the molding of young minds at Hogwarts."

"I wish I could've seen his face. Oh- oh! Minny McGonagall's still teaching, isn't she? Oh Merlin, I'd love to see her inspected by Dolores Umbridge!" Sirius looked transported with mirth at the idea.

Rose chuckled too. "Yes, Harry says it was quite a scene. He says Minerva just carried on as if Umbridge wasn't there at all, and then had some very choice words when she was interrupted. Harry would think her a great hypocrite if he didn't love her so much. She had stern words for him over his detentions." She leaned back in her chair and sighed worriedly. "I just hope Umbridge doesn't drive him to more outbursts. She seems to goad him to it deliberately. He's got to cool his head if he's not going to spend the entire entire year in detention with her." _And if he's not going to become positively weak from blood loss,_ Rose added to herself.

"His head seems cool enough," Sirius observed dryly. "I spoke to him out of the fire on Sunday night last, and he was all caution and discretion."

"You didn't! Paddy, you mustn't!" Rose knew her face looked horrified by the amused way Sirius was regarding her. "They're watching the fires, Sirius, it's too dangerous!"

"You sound like your nephew," he grumbled. "I offered to come to see him on their next Hogsmeade visit, as Snuffles, of course. He said no! Told me it was too big a risk; something about Lucius Malfoy's son . . . anyway, he's not nearly as much like his father as I thought he was. And I told him so." Sirius was glowering.

Rose stood up, suddenly ablaze. "You told him _what?_ " she demanded. "He only doesn't want you imprisoned for the rest of your life! How could you say such a thing to that boy?"

"James had a sense of adventure!" Sirius replied. "We become Animagi together; it was his idea! Do you know what that involves? Do you know how many days we had to miss class, how long we had to chant and suck leaves and all other mad things, and still avoid detection?" He leaned forward, a look of intensity on his face. "And then when we succeeded, if we'd been caught, we'd have gone to Azkaban, all of us! James was willing to risk that!"

"He was willing to risk it, as I understand things, for Remus Lupin's sake," Rose responded sharply. "When did James ever take a risk that wasn't to protect someone else? When did he ever risk anyone _else's_ safety for his own comfort? Never that I know of!"

Sirius opened his mouth to protest and then closed it. Rose sat back down. She could feel her face growing hot, but she continued anyway. "James illegally expanded his house _for my comfort_. He threw off the security wizard after my parents' funeral to collect my things, for _my_ sake. He took risks, it's true, but he risked his own safety, not someone else's, and only other peoples' sake. Do you think James would have wanted you to play dice with your own freedom, just for a social visit?"

"You think I just wanted a social visit?" Sirius was indignant. "You think I want to see Harry just for a laugh? I'm his godfather, for Merlin's sake! I'm trying to do my job!"

"Right now you can do your job by staying safe, so you can stay in his life!" Rose returned hotly. "You're asking Harry to take a risk with _your_ safety, and it's nothing but selfish of you, Sirius."

"Oh, you and Molly, and Dumbledore, you're are all of a piece," Sirius' voice was disgusted. He waved his hand with a sarcastic flourish. "All grown-ups banding together to keep the naughty boy safe. You have all together robbed me of my own life. But I thought you'd understand, Rose. I can't live like this. I'm running mad, I tell you!" His voice was agitated, now, and he gripped his hair with both hands. He looked to be running mad indeed.

Rose knit her brow in concern. "Sirius," she said, in a quieter voice, stretching out her hand to him.

But he rebuffed her with a wave of his hand. "Don't, don't, I don't need sympathy. I'll be fine. I'm overreacting, you know me." He caused his face to assume a sort of smile. But his eyes, Rose noticed, continued to smolder.

They resumed a stilted, rather unnatural sort of conversation for a while longer, until Rose stood again. "I think I would do well to go to bed now," she announced. Her stomach was still in knots, and she felt she needed the quiet of her blue bedroom to unravel it.

Sirius only nodded and said, "I'll see you in the morning, then."

Alone in her room, Rose put on her nightdress, and then her dressing gown against the cold. She put a fire in the grate, and was brushing her hair when she heard Sirius come up the stairs. She listened for him to go into his room, but instead he hesitated outside her own door. She heard him clear his throat, and then his gruff voice came. "Rose?"

"Sirius?" she responded, suddenly at attention.

"Er, let me know if you need anything to be comfortable. I've put your usual linens in your room, with the towels."

"Thank you, Sirius, I have everything I need." Rose felt herself softening toward him a little. She did not open her door, though, but stood with her brush in her hand, waiting to hear his steps walk away.

But he did not go. "Rose." he hesitated outside her door. "Rose, I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't have said it to Harry. I'll… I'll apologize to him, when I see him again."

Rose heard his steps then begin to creak away, but she strode quickly to the door and opened it a few inches. Clutching her robe to her, she whispered, "Paddy?"

"Yes?" he was before her in an instant, his face eager in the darkness.

She opened the door a bit wider and stretched out her hand to him. He took it, holding it between his own warm hands. "Good night, Paddy."

"Good night, Mademoiselle," he replied.

In the morning, Rose and Sirius enjoyed a friendly breakfast. Their quarrel might not have happened, so easily did they talk and laugh together. Sirius fried eggs, Rose made toast and tea, and they ate in the surprisingly sunny kitchen in very good spirits. Sirius seemed surprised at his own cheerfulness. He cracked jokes which he did not seem to expect to laugh at, but when Rose's laugh bubbled up his own barking laugh would follow. They cleaned the kitchen together, for the sheer pleasure of doing it in company, then set to work cleaning in the dining room.

The room was now free of infestations, but as it was the principal site for meetings of the Order of the Phoenix, Sirius wished it to be cleaner, and if possible, less gloomy. Rose felt she could be useful in this last task. While Sirius removed dust from the carpet and grime from the walls, Rose transfigured the heavy raisin-colored drapes into dove-colored linen ones. After an adjustment to increase the opacity, ("Mad-Eye will prefer it," advised Sirius), the room was still much less oppressive than it had been. Sunlight filtered into the room as it had not before. After an hour had passed, the table had been cleaned, the mantle dusted, and the wallpaper lightened to a pale lilac. They stood together to admire their work, then. "We make a good team," Sirius observed, and Rose could not help but agree.

They continued to clean and cook together until the afternoon, when Rose excused herself to mark her students' essays. This she did in Sirius' room at his invitation, while he played his Queen albums and made stray comments about what this song represented about the band's development, or what that song reminded him about what he and James and done that year. Rose made good progress on her marking notwithstanding, and she was quite ready to put it away for the day when the front door opened and a cacophony ensued.

First, there was a clatter, followed by a muttered curse, and then a familiar wail: "MUTANTS! SCUM! DREGS OF PUTRESCENCE! AWAY WITH YOU!" Sirius' mother's portrait was awake. Sirius went charging down the stairs first to shut the curtains. Rose hurried down after him to see who had come. She thought she knew, from the sounds their entrance had produced, and she was gratified to see a head of carnation-pink hair at the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," Tonks was saying. She looked up as Rose appeared. "Wotcher, Rose!"

"Hello, Tonks! How lovely to see you! And Mooney," she shook both their hands warmly. "Are you both here for dinner?"

"Yes, if you don't object," Lupin said, smiling wanly. _He always looks ill these days,_ Rose observed to herself. She resolved to make sure they ate well that night, and after a sincere, "I would be very happy if you would eat with us, please!" she excused herself to the kitchen to speak to Kreacher.

Rose made her bright as she entered the kitchen. "Kreacher? Darling, I wonder if you will mind terribly if I whip up some steak and potatoes for our guests. Only, their palates may not be as refined as to appreciate the stew you have been so kind as to prepare," and here she glanced at the pot of simmering goo on the stove, hiding her repulsion. "May I make use of the kitchen?"

Kreacher did not even spare her a glance but began to bustle around the kitchen, muttering, apparently to himself, "The Mudblood wants to use the Black Family kitchen, to place filthy hands all over my Mistress' elegant frypans and crockery. Kreacher cannot allow it. Kreacher is able to make all that Master requires, with no help from Mudbloods. They continue to insult—" But Rose had already left the kitchen, smiling in satisfaction.

The four of them ate their steak and potatoes with enjoyment and good spirits. Lupin especially ate hungrily, while Sirius plied him with questions about his work with the werewolves. "No, Pads, they haven't all joined up with Voldemort, though most of them seem inclined to. The Ministry has not been their friend. Although," and he took a bite of potato before finishing, seeming unable to go a second longer between bites, "Albus Dumbledore has, or has tried to be."

"Will you be at the meeting tonight, Tonks?" Rose asked, trying to give Lupin a chance to eat.

Tonks shook her head, wrinkling her nose. "No, I'll be on duty at the Ministry. It's been sooo dull, lately, I almost wish someone'd try to get to get it, just for something to do."

"And have you end up like poor Sturgis, imperiused and in Azkaban? I'd rather not, thanks," Lupin put in.

A somber silence followed this allusion. Sturgis had only just begun his six-month sentence in Azkaban that week. Rose felt chilled, and glanced at Sirius. He was staring at his steak and potatoes with an expressionless face. The mood lifted, however, when a stream of bubbles caught Rose's eye and she saw that Tonks' face, which now resembled a sturgeon, was blowing bubble after bubble in Remus' direction and gazing at him balefully. Remus snorted, then laughed frankly, and Rose and Sirius soon joined in laughing, their solemnity forgotten for a time.

The Order meeting that evening was small, and rather uneventful. Safety protocol were reviewed for members who were on duty; anti-intruder jinxes were now mandatory. "It couldn't hurt to bring a sneakoscope, either," Moody added in his harsh voice. "Bring some energizing potion if you've a tendency to doze off. We can't afford another Podmore, so _constant vigilance!"_ Next, the group discussed the presence of Dolores Umbridge at Hogwarts, which gave Rose a chance to offer her own testimony and opinion. It was agreed that she represented a grave threat to the Order's activities at Hogwarts in general, and to Harry Potter in particular. "She seems hell-bent on silencing and discrediting Potter at every turn," Moody observed. "He may well be driven to some rash action by her goading. I wouldn't actually put it past the likes of her to attack the boy one of these days. I don't suppose I have to remind you to keep an eye on your nephew, eh, Miss Evans?"

"Certainly not, Alastor." Rose replied, a bit cooly. She disliked that he felt the need to ask the question, though she understood that she was still, largely, an unknown quantity with the Order of the Phoenix. Many of them, she knew, disapproved of her for staying abroad so long, and many of them held her foreign education itself against her.

Rose was not scheduled to go on duty for the foreseeable future, though she had been sure to tell Moody when she was available to leave Hogwarts. "You will have enough to do what with your first year teaching, anyway, Miss Rose," Arthur Weasley had said kindly before he departed. But Rose was fighting a gloom that threatened to sap all of the joy of her weekend with Sirius away.

When the meeting had ended and all the guests departed, Sirius noticed her expression as she sipped her wine. "What's on your mind, then, Mademoiselle?" he asked, sitting beside her on the dusty, blood-red loveseat. "Moody got you down with all his miserable prognosticating?"

Rose tried to smile. "Oh, I'm all right, Paddy." He raised his eyebrows.

She sighed. "I'm just discouraged, I suppose. I spent all those years in France as an outsider, with people suspicious of me, not accepting me, because I was English. I always thought when I eventually came home . . . well, I knew I wouldn't have much of a family to come home to, but I think I had it in my head that I wouldn't have to work so hard, in England. That people would recognize me as one of them. And I'm just... tired." To her embarrassment, tears had sprung up in her eyes as she said this last sentence. "I'm tired of having to prove to everyone that I can be trusted. To the Order. To Harry. To you." This last phrase came out as a whisper.

"Well, there's one task you can rest easy from," Sirius said softly, sliding an arm around her shoulders and squeezing them gently. "You don't have to prove yourself to me, Rose. I know what you did for Harry last June. And Harry told me how you threatened your sister to try to gain him some safety. And you handle my perverse moods admirably. You're at home _here_ , all right?"

Rose swallowed. She had not realized how badly she had wanted him to say something like this until he said it. "Oh. Thank you, Paddy," she choked, and threw her arms around him. He put his arms around her, too. He smelled like smoke and firewhisky and some other leathery smell she couldn't put her finger on. When she released him, Rose felt rather embarrassed, but part of her wished for an excuse to embrace him again.

"Shall we deal out some Disappearing Coinche?" Sirius suggested. "Kreacher," he called, before she could answer, "Bring some wine, won't you? There's a good little monster."

 _She was standing in the Volière at Beauxbatons, her eyes aloft to the white towers and panels of blue sky. Owls soared around her, never seeming to depart or arrive, simply circling endlessly. Rose watched them, entranced, until one of them swooped down to her bearing a letter, which smoked and grew red and then transformed into Lily's face in paper. The paper Lily opened her mouth and began to scream._

 _Mad-Eye Moody was circling her on the floor of the Volière, a hobbling imitation of the owls' endless circling above. He turned to her, his wild blue eye roving madly. "Didn't I warn you? Constant vigilance!" he bellowed. And Harry was missing, and she couldn't reach him, and Lily was screaming for him_ and Rose was screaming too, and then she was awake and covered with cold sweat, her sheets twisted around her legs. She sat up, and reached for her wand. "Lumos."

There was no sleeping now. Rose had known too many of these dreams even to attempt it. Her heart still racing, Rose put her feet into her blue plush slippers and slipped into her dressing gown. Then she picked up her still lit wand and padded down the narrow stairs. _A little tea, and I will forget this. Oh, why must this house be so eerie?_ She reached the first floor and stopped when she reached the parlor. The room was dimly lit, and Sirius was sitting on the largest red couch, a small glass in his hand.

He met her eyes and Rose felt her stomach sink as she realized he was quite drunk. His eyes were glassy and he struggled to focus on her, though a wide smile stretched his mouth when he finally did. "Good evening, Mademoiselle," he slurred. "Come down for a nightcap?"

"I came down for some tea," Rose said in a dignified voice. "You seem to have had several nightcaps, Sirius," she added.

"Ah, well, just one, what does that do?" he asked, gesturing clumsily with one hand. "'m a Black. It takes a lot of firewhisky to send us to sleep."

Rose hesitated a moment, but then she strode over to him in decision. "You have had enough firewhiskey, Sirius," she said firmly, hoping he didn't see her shaking as she picked up his glass and the decanter and walked away with them. "I'll fix you some tea," she said over her shoulder.

He was silent at first, but she felt his eyes on her back as she walked out of the room. Abruptly, he began to sing. _"She keeps her Moet et Chandon in her pretty cabinet. 'Let them eat cake,' she says. Just like Marie Antoinette."_

Rose rolled her eyes but found herself very nearly smiling as she entered the kitchen. It was the song he had said reminded him of her, though when she had read the lyrics on the record sleeve she had not been so sure how to feel about this. Rose put the tea kettle on the stove, then drained the remaining firewhiskey from Sirius' glass and put the decanter back in the cabinet. She returned to the kettle and, impatient to find it not even warm, did a heating charm which had it whistling away immediately. When she left the kitchen, she carried two cups of steaming chamomile tea, with her wand in its accustomed place between her ring and small finger.

Sirius was still sitting on the couch, with his legs spread wide and his arms draped over the back of the wood trim. _Impertinent,_ she thought, but she said aloud, "Budge over then, Sirius. I've made your tea."

" _Well versed in etiquette, extraordinarily nice_ ," he sang, leering at her. But he brought his limbs closer together so that she was able to sit beside him. She placed his teacup on the little table before them and sipped her own, looking at him in mingled discomfort and amusement.

"You're a vision of grace at three in the morning, Mademoiselle. Perfect, even in your dressing gown. Don't let me drool on you." He leaned in just a little too close, so that the firewhisky on his breath rather assaulted her.

"Why don't you sip your tea, Sirius. You'll feel better." Rose leaned back fractionally, though she gave a tiny smile.

"I feel marvelous." Sirius grinned and sat back on the couch with a satisfied sigh.

Rose raised an eyebrow. "You couldn't have felt marvelous when you started drinking. Why are you awake and drinking by yourself at this hour?"

Sirius continued to grin weirdly. "Because I am alive, Mad'moiselle. ALIVE! Because they haven't killed me yet. I'm celebrating, y'see." There was bitterness under his hearty exclamation. "And besides," he said, turning his face toward her. "See, I'm not alone. It's a party of two. The Killer Queen, she's my guest."

Rose was irritated. She was losing sleep listening to this drunken nonsense. In no mood for ribaldry, Rose persisted. "Why can't you sleep, Sirius?"

Sirius' expression changed as he stared into the empty fire grate. Beneath the glassy cast of his eyes Rose could see the dullness of misery. "Just can't. I don't sleep too well, gen'rally. With enough Odgen's, sometimes, I can get a few more hours."

Rose brought her legs up underneath her and peered at him over her teacup. His vacant expression was strangely at odds with the easy grace of his posture on the couch. "Is it because you remember Azkaban?" She asked gently.

"Yes," he said shortly. After a moment's silence he added, "And this house. Slept well enough when I was on the run, only a few nightmares. Sometimes. But this house." He shook his head and gestured clumsily about him. "I loathe this house. I could block the dementors out, you know, in the cave. But being back here. Things that happened here. I just... see things. Behind my eyes."

Rose stretched out a cautious hand and rested it on his back. "What do you see behind your eyes, Sirius?"

He shuddered. "My father. He was a nasty one. Merlin, did he hate me. Feel like he might come down the hall sometime, y'know. He's in the wallpaper in this place." He looked at Rose, and she noticed how pronounced the lines of his face appeared in the lamplight. "I know you think the worst years of my life were in Azkaban. Azkaban was . . . horrible." His jaw tensed. "But with dementors, it's not personal. I could transform into a dog. They left me alone then. My father never left me alone. I've been in one prison or another for most of my life."

"Except at Hogwarts?" Rose suggested.

"Except at Hogwarts," he agreed. He went silent then and stared at the fire.

Rose waited until it seemed clear he had reached a stopping point. Her hand still on Sirius' back, she said, "I think you're very brave. To come back for Harry. To live in this house again, for the Order. To fight Voldemort."

"I'm not fighting," he said acidly.

"But you are, Sirius," she said, leaning toward him. "You're fighting to live here. To stay alive, for other people's sake. Like you fought the dementors away from your mind for all those years, so that, at the right moment, you could ask Cornelius Fudge for a newspaper. Don't we fight the greatest battles within ourselves, anyway?" He went silent again. Rose rather thought her small speech had impressed him.

But then he began to sing again, " _Gunpowder, gelatin. Dynamite with a laser beam._ _Guaranteed to blow your mind._ "

Rose rolled her eyes again. She was just about to stand and declare her intention of going back to bed when he suddenly slumped over to rest his head in her lap, still singing under his breath.

Rose sat very still and wondered what to do. He did not seem fully in control of his actions. She doubted that he would remember much of this exchange in the morning. But pity and affection were now prominent in her mind as she looked down at his dark head and disheveled hair. _This house has turned him back into a child,_ she thought sadly. _A hurting child._

She thought of Harry as a little child, alone in his cupboard in her sister's house, and Harry now, still returning there each summer, and her hands stretched out to stroke the black hair in her lap. She combed his hair with her fingers, she ran her hands over the side of his bearded face, and suddenly into her mind came the little song she had sung to Harry, when he had been a baby in her arms. She sang softly, still stroking Sirius' hair rhythmically.

 _Il était un petit navire_

 _Il était un petit navire_

 _Qui n'avait ja-ja-jamais navigué_

 _Qui n'avait ja-ja-jamais navigué._

 _Ohé ohé!_

It was only a nursery song, not art music, but somehow the words about a ship that had never sailed seemed appropriate in their tender melancholy. Rose heard Sirius' breath slow and deepen as she chanted through the simple little verses.

Twenty minutes later, she gently slid herself out from under his head and shoulders, and quickly placed a cushion where her lap had been. In the morning when she came down for breakfast, he was not there.


	14. Third Flower Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Fertilizer

 **A.N. Please note: I wouldn't generally try to spell out accents phonetically. However, since Rose's accent here is assumed and intended to be exaggerated, I have tried to emphasize the unnatural way she's choosing to speak. Umbridge seems like the sort who would pretend to knowledge of accents, languages, and cultures, but would actually be quite ignorant and shallow in her understanding of these things.**

 **Finally, if you are a reader who speaks any of the languages which I have represented in this chapter and you notice a mistake in my representation, please point it out to me! I do not speak most of the languages here, so I was relying upon the internet for translations. Enjoy!**

Rose's first class of the day was quickly becoming her favorite. While the younger students were often eager and enthusiastic, she found the 5th, 6th and 7th Ravenclaws and Gryffindors in her first class engaging and capable of the highest level of magic and thinking. Her other upper level class, which met after lunch, contained several Slytherin students who were barely able to repress their clear anti-Muggle prejudice. It was true that there were fewer Slytherin students enrolled in her class than any other house, but those that there were made for a tense ninety minutes. Daphne Greengrass missed no opportunities to argue with her on any issues pertaining to blood status among Wizards or policies toward Muggles, and Blaise Zabini just fixed her with a contemptuous expression for the duration of the class. She suspected they knew about her parentage; it would not, anyway, be difficult to ascertain that she was not among the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

But in her first morning class, Rose was free. The students were eager to learn and were engaged, but the class contained lively elements that made every lesson unpredictable and fresh. Rose kept a careful eye on Fred and George Weasley and on their friend, Lee Jordan, involving them as demonstration subjects whenever she sensed their attention wandering, and she was challenged and inspired by Hermione Granger's dedication to the subject. All in all, Rose was pleased that it was this class which Professor Umbridge would inspect, even if she dreaded the actual event.

On Monday morning, Rose waited until nearly the end of her first class to bring up the inspection. They were finishing a practical lesson in greeting wizards in cultures around the world; students were paired and practiced bowing appropriately as they would to a Japanese wizard, clasping the hand of a Brazilian wizard, and saying "Greetings, fellow wizards," in several languages. Rose judged that they were ready to move on when the class was about 15 minutes from concluding, and she held up her hands for silence.

"That was very good work, class. I have heard pronunciation improvements all over the room. Keep practicing! But now we need to have a brief conversation. On Friday, this class will host a visitor who will be observing the class."

Rose distinctly heard one Gryffindor girl say to another, "Bet it's that Umbridge cow." She caught the girl's eye and raised an eyebrow; the girl flushed and went silent.

"We will indeed be hosting _Professor_ Umbridge in our class Friday morning, yes. Now, you don't need to worry. She is here to observe me, not you. You need only do as you usually do. I assume you have been in other classes which have been inspected—?"

Nods, and a few scowls at this. "She's a right nightmare," Kenneth Towler said under his breath. There was a murmur of assent. Katie Bell raised her hand and Rose acknowledged her with a nod.

"Please, Professor? She's horrid in inspections. She interrupts all the time, she asks all kinds of questions to try to make teachers look bad, and she talks to herself while she's taking notes. She writes very rude notes."

Rose tried to keep the amusement from her face as she said, "I appreciate your concern, Miss Bell, thank you. I'm sure Professor Umbridge improves upon acquaintance. And I am equally sure that this class will give her nothing to criticize."

"She gets worse upon acquaintance, Professor," Lee Jordan observed. Fred and George were nodding vigorously. And suddenly nearly the whole class was chiming in, all ready with abuse for Umbridge and warnings about her treatment of teachers during inspections. Rose felt the corner of her mouth twitch, but she firmly forced her face into a mask of seriousness and held up her hands for quiet again. Before she spoke, she directed her wand at the door, closed it, and locked it.

"Do all of you feel this way, then? You have all found her to be this… unpleasant?" A chorus of affirmative responses followed, and several other auxiliary comments to the effect that Umbridge was universally loathed. "Well then," she said, as they quieted at her look. "Perhaps you won't object to having a little fun while she is with us?"

Rose was on corridor duty that evening when her spine stiffened at a now-familiar voice. Dolores Umbridge was outside the Potions classroom, bearing down on Fred and George Weasley. "You know," she was saying in her sickly sweet, dangerous voice, "I do not think Severus Snape is aware of what you two get up to in classes. He does not see what I see, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley." Rose was full of admiration for they way they returned her gaze with mild, utterly unruffled expressions. "I see the things you get up to in your classes. I know that Miss Johnson did not put Exploding Ginger Eyelash into her own potion. I cannot believe Severus does not have you in detention already, but as _he_ does not—"

Rose raised her voice. " _Excusez-moi_ , Monsieur Weasley et Monsieur Weasley! I em so soreee to interrupt, Madame!" She turned wide eyes to Umbridge as she said this, "But I 'ave been looking for you all ovair! I must speak wis you both about your homewairk, _maintenant_! Eet was not at all wut I expect. I am veree disappoint wis you! Come wis me, Monsieurs!"

Umbridge looked torn between irritation at having interrupted mid-lecture and satisfaction that someone besides herself was going to tell off the Weasley twins. Severus Snape had narrowed his eyes when she had begun to speak in her exaggerated accent, but he had said nothing. He even looked faintly amused. Fred and George, of course, were only too delighted to come away with her, and they walked briskly to her office.

Rose ushered the twins into her office and shut the door. She took a moment before speaking to cast an Imperturbable Charm on her office door. When she turned to Fred and George, she saw they both had raised eyebrows and devilish grins on their faces. She smiled back. "I assume you recognize the charm?"

"Oh, yes, the Imperturbable charm and we go waaaay back," George answered.

"So what are we in for, Professor Evans?" Fred asked lightly.

"Not detention," Rose promised, "Nor even a reprimand; your homework was actually more than satisfactory. No, you are here because I have a bit of mischief to accomplish, and I want your help. And I recognize true professionals when I meet them." Rose nodded to them as she spoke.

Fred bowed, his eyes twinkling. George's grin spread even wider and he asked, "I think we can put something together. What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing too overt," Rose cautioned. "I would like to keep my position, here, thank you. Nor do I want you two taking the fall; the word is, you spend enough of your time in detention, and I'm not sure you can afford to cross the likes of Professor Umbridge. No, we need to do something where she will not know for _certain_ that anything untoward is happening at all. She may suspect, but she can not know. But _we_ will know. And-" Rose leaned toward Fred and George conspiratorially, "I have found that doing these sorts of things can make one feel better, when one feels at the mercy of uncontrollable forces. Do you know what I mean?"

The boys looked at each other, then nodded. "Absolutely we do," they replied, with one voice.

When they finally felt certain of their plan, dinner time had come and gone. "Oh dear," Rose said ruefully when she saw the time. "Let me fix you something to take back to your Common Room, I've got the makings for sandwiches, plenty of bread and cheese-?"

Fred looked hurt. "Oh, Professor Evans, you have to believe in us a little. We can easily manage a trip to the kitchens on the way back."

"As you said," George winked, "We're professionals. It's all in a day's work." Fred saluted, and both boys stepped jauntily out of her office.

On Friday, most of the students Rose's 9 o'clock class arrived early. They sat more quietly than usual in their seats, and no one uttered a word of protest when Rose instructed them to put their wands away. "Now remember," said Rose, "Straight faces. Does everyone remember their recitation sentences?"

"Yes, Professor," several students chorused, while others nodded.

"Good," Rose replied, smoothing her lilac robes. She never could get used to the dour black robes at Hogwarts after so many years in Beauxbatons blue. She opened her mouth to add one more reminder, then saw the clock and thought better of it. Instead, she stepped to the door and peered into the hall. Sure enough, a squat figure had just rounded the corner and was making its way toward her classroom, panting audibly after having descended so many stairs. Rose gave her class a meaningful look. They all straightened. Several looked nervous; Fred, George, and Lee, however, looked as if Christmas dinner had just been served.

"Ah, _Madame_ Umbridge! How _charmante_ for you to make a visit!" Rose cried as her visitor entered, still breathing hard. "Class, won't you say an Hello to zees guest of ours?"

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," the students chorused.

Umbridge looked pleasantly surprised at the enthusiastic greeting, and she nodded her round, pink face toward Rose. "Well, you certainly seem to have the students under admirable control, Professor. I assume that you received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspection?"

"Oh, _oui_ , I received eet! We are so pleezed to 'ave you 'ere! Make yourself _confortable_ , pleeze!"

"Thank you," twittered Umbridge in her breathy voice which made Rose wince behind her unwavering smile.

Rose clapped her hands. "Classe! Pleez, take out your homework for eenspecshun!" As they had agreed to do, the class took out the homework which had been due on Wednesday for her to appear to inspect. As she made the rounds, Rose was gratified to hear Umbridge rifling around in the dish of bonbons she had left out on the front table. The label on the bonbons read " _Coassement de Bonbons: Mangez à vos propres risques!"1_

"Oh, bonbons. How thoughtful!" Umbridge cooed. "What a lovely little message there. I do speak French, of course! It comes with my LeStrange ancestry."

Rose deliberately slowed her response time, turning with an exaggerated gesture of warning. "Oh- oh _Madame_ , I must warn you, zos _bonbons_ are- are, _nouveautés_ , euh, novelties, for ze students- "

But Umbridge had already consumed two Croaking Bonbons with the alacrity of a frog snapping up a fly. She smiled sweetly, nothing abashed, and opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a bullfrog's sonorous CROAK.

"Oh, _Hélas_ , _Madame,_ I am so dreadful sorree!" Rose cried. "Eet weel wear off, _bientôt_!" she assured her.

Umbridge did not look placated. She looked at the label on the chocolates, frowned, and opened her mouth again, but again, all that came forth was another loud croak.

"Two meenutes, yes? I belieeve zis weel wear off in zat long. Meanwhile, may I say zat zis suit you wear ees _tres élégante_!" She approached Umbridge with pretended confidence, smiling appealingly. "Always you wear such _chique_ pieces, Madame! Where is zat you shop? Oh, _excusez-moi_ , I am so sorree," said Rose, holding up her hands. "You must tell me when zee bonbons 'ave worn off. I must know, _effectivement_!"

Umbridge looked mollified under this flattery, and Rose felt it would be safe now to begin the recitations. "Vairy well, _classe_ , we 'av been studying 'ow to greet Wizards from ozair lands. When I call, you weel stand and I weel give you a country. You must give ze traditional greeting, yes?"

"Yes Professor," chanted the class.

" _Très bien,_ " Rose said briskly. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of Umbridge testing out her voice, clearing her throat, muttering quietly and finding herself croak-free. Quickly, Rose called out, " _Mademoiselle_ Patil, Swedish wizard. Pleeez greet."

Padma stood and called out in a clear voice, " _Jag vill döda dig med en sked."2_

And sat down again. Rose was quite impressed with the class; not one of the students cracked a smile. Hermione, it was true, was looking flushed and was staring determinedly at her hands. Rose had known she could not be called upon to recite; she only hoped Professor Umbridge would not gaze at her over-long. Umbridge, however, was hastily scratching out notes and humming experimentally to herself. Smiling, Rose called, "Monsieur Towler? A Japanese wizard."

Kenneth Towler stood and announced, "Anata wa kaeru no kao o shite iru,"3 in a carrying voice. Rose knew that he was particularly excited about his recitation.

"Very impressive, Mr. Towler!" Umbridge seemed to be confident enough in her voice to speak at last. "And may I ask, is this a class for which you make frequent use of your wand?"

Towler looked at Rose, who gave only the tiniest shake of her head, before he answered. "Er, no, Professor, we don't use wands in this class. Not at all."

"Very good, very good, Towler, thank you," Umbridge said approvingly, scribbling vigorously.

Rose took advantage of the silence to call upon another student. " _Mademoiselle_ Bell, eef you pleez! A wizard from Russia."

Katie stood and declaimed, "Moy lyubimyy barsuk propal."4

"Well done, _Mademoiselle_! _Monsieur_ Jordan, pleez greet a Saudi wizard."

Lee stood and proudly made a gesture that Rose had assured him was extremely offensive to Arabic speaking people.

Rose allowed for three more recitations, and then she thought the time had come to change tact. "Zis is verry good, _classe_. Now, pleez take out quills. Eet is time for notes!"

Everyone withdrew a quill and parchment and looked at Rose expectantly. Umbridge was skulking around in the back of the room, seemingly looking for an opportunity to pounce in a student. Rose cleared her throat. "In _classe_ last, we discussed Argentina's sad history of _non-magique à l'envers_ , zee upside-down Muggles. You must remember zee great war which zee Argentines 'ave fought wis zair Muggles before zey turned zem upside-down. Eet 'as been such an 'eadache for zee diplomats zat we do not mention Argentina to any diplomats, evair."

She continued her nonsensical story, to which Umbridge listened with narrowed eyes, until she took the opportunity to draw a crude map of Argentina which she instructed the class to copy. While she was drawing, Rose heard Umbridge asking Padma, "So, do you enjoy this class? Do you find it.. . . . practical?"

"Oh yes, very practical," Padma responded calmly. "I hope to use what I learn here when I begin my internship with the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

Umbridge then asked, in her honey-sweet voice, "Do you use this knowledge when you travel to your homeland, my dear? How do you greet a wizard from your land?"

Rose had finished drawing and was now simply watching the exchange with the rest of the class. Padma looked surprised, but answered, "Well, we generally say, 'Greetings, fellow wizard,' in English."

"No, but in the country where you are from," Umbridge explained patiently. "How does one greet a wizard from- what is it, Pakistan?"

"Oh, of course. How foolish of me." said Padma, looking at Umbridge with barely disguised contempt. "In India we say, 'Aap bahut jaativaadee hain.'"5

"Do you? How charming," Umbridge smiled cloyingly. She then waved to Rose, who was watching with the rest of the class. "Do continue your excellent lesson, Professor Evans."

Rose resumed the tale of the Upside-Down Muggles, and was again pleased to note that not one student so much as cracked a smile. Perhaps this was partially due to their dread of Umbridge, but Rose felt things were going swimmingly. The students dutifully took notes, but when Rose paused to write some fictional "facts" upon the board, she heard Umbridge questioning Fred Weasley.

"So, Mr. Weasley. I notice we are keeping our hands to ourselves today, aren't we? Do you always behave so well in Professor Evans' class?" Rose stole a glance over her shoulder.

"Oh, yes, Professor. That is," and here he looked pained, "I do _now_."

"Oh? So you have offended in this class before?" Umbridge said, while Rose hurriedly wrote, _Bernardo the Ugly, b. 1955, Primary Muggle General._

"I did," Fred said, in a rueful voice, "But I never will again! Professor Evans is a savage in detention, Professor Umbridge. My hand'll never be the same." Rose tensed; she thought he might be overdoing it, now.

But this seemed to have been the right thing to say, for Umbridge said, " _Is_ she? Well now. At least one teacher in this school has the right idea about discipline, eh Professor Evans?" Rose met Umbridge's respectful gaze and nodded her head in a moment of apparently collegial understanding.

Umbridge strode to the front of the classroom. "If you don't mind," she began, standing uncomfortably close to Rose and in a voice which made Rose's spine tingle unpleasantly, "I would like to ask _you_ a few questions. Can the students be made to practice something on their own?"

"But of course!" Rose said, smiling again, hoping she appeared to be at her ease. " _Classe_! Pleez take a moment, dreel each ozair for ze official magical pets of ze countries of Africa. _Immediatement_!" She clapped her hands impressively and the students turned to their neighbors to began reviewing the preposterous country-animal pairings she had given them to study the day before.

Umbridge placed her quill to her parchment and began to throw out questions to Rose in a voice that was suddenly brisk. "How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?"

Rose forced herself to smile into the beady eyes before her. "Zees ees my first year; Professor Dumbledorrre was so kind as to ask!"

"My my, your first year," Umbridge said, scribbling. "Well, to have the students under such strict control in so short a span, I must say, is an accomplishment. You certainly seem to know your subject, too."

Rose struggled against the beginnings of what she knew would be a long, laughing jag. She took a breath and said, "Well, sank you, _Madame_! And will you now pleez to tell me where it is you shop for zees cunning suit?"

"Ah. Well," Umbridge tittered irritatingly, still standing far too close for Rose's comfort.

"This one is from Twillfit and Taddings. But I expect it must seem terribly out of date to you, with Paris fashion being what it is!"

Rose shook her head. " _Au contraire, Madame_ , zees is very chique. I must visit zees Twillfit and Taddings myself!"

"Yes, well, I do have another question for you, as it happens," Umbridge said, snapping out of her giggles and looking suddenly severe. "There is a rumor floating around; I'm sure you have heard it. They say you are- well, related in some way to the boy, Harry Potter. Is this true?"

Ice seemed to encase Rose's stomach. She took another breath, and then rallied. "Oh, zees boy, wis zee-" and here she motioned a lightning shape over her forehead. " _Madame_ is speaking of zees boy?"

Umbridge nodded, narrowing her eyes. "Yes, Harry Potter. Are you related to him?"

"Zees boy, hélas. He does not take mah class! Lovely boy, _charmante_. I weesh to 'ave 'eem in class."

Umbridge looked sharply at Rose, who continued to smile blandly back at Umbridge. Then suddenly, she clapped her hands. "Oh! I nearly forget! We 'ave for you, _un cadeau._ A gift! I 'ave hear zat you like cats?" Rose walked to her desk and lifted out of its box a pink china plate, on which a green-eyed kitten pranced. "Zees is a verrry _spéciale_ , er, verry life-like _chatte!"_

Umbridge's expression become one of delight. "Oh, how lovely! Did you know, I collect these plates! I do love kittens, what a thoughtful gift!" She reached out to take the plate and caressed it lovingly with a be-ringed hand. Then, she looked up at Rose with a look of concentration on her face. " _Merci, Bow-coop!"_ she said, a trifle proudly.

Rose clasped her hands together and tried to look delighted. "Oh, I am glad you like. Sank you for your visit, _Madame!_ "

"Yes, yes. I think this inspection is concluded. I have quite enough to be getting along with, yes. You will receive the results of your inspection in one week's time, Professor Evans."

"I shall look for zat, sank you, _Madame_! _Merci beaucoup!_ " Rose briefly considered kissing the woman's cheeks, just to seems as charmingly exotic as possible. But when her eyes fell upon Umbridge's pouchy cheeks and glittering eyes, she found herself unable to get any closer to her than she already was. Instead, she settled for a warm handshake. " _Au revoire,_ _Madame_ Umbridge, your visit 'as made us happee."

As Umbridge stumped out of the room, Rose turned back to her class. She was suddenly filled with affection for them all, as she smiled at them with wide eyes. " _Très bien, classe_ , zees is very good practice, yes," she prattled as she heard Umbridge's steps recede. After a safe interval, she closed the door and muttered the incarnation to Imperturb it. Still, the class remained silent, watching her, though many begin to show signs of barely repressed laughter.

Rose strode to her desk, opened a drawer, and withdraw a box containing sweetly scented litter. She placed it on Katie Bell's desk and cleared her throat. "Miss Bell, and Miss Patil, would you be so kind as to bring this to Professor Umbridge after your lunch today? I shall excuse you from your class. She will need it sooner than that, but let's give the dear little cat a chance to make a bit of a mess first, shall we?"

Katie frowned quizzically. "Professor? What…?" she trailed off.

"Ah, let me explain," Rose said, happily. "Our gift to Professor Umbridge is, as I said, very life-like. Professor Umbridge must be advised to place a litter box beneath the plate, because the kitten will produce realistic amounts of, er, _waste_ , several times a day."

Abruptly, the class lost the ability to repress their guffaws. Hermione's laughter was contained in her hands, but Padma's ran down her face in the form of tears, Lee's caused him to kick his legs and fling back his head, and Roger Davies' had him pounding on the table. For about five of their remaining 15 minutes, the class was helpless with mirth.

"This was," Katie said, wiping tears from her face, "the best class I've had all year."

Several students agreed loudly. Rose, who had sunk into a chair and laughed until she gasped, felt it was time to set an example. "We're going to need to get ourselves together, class," she said, smoothing her hair and she stood up. She looked at them, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws beginning to recover from their hilarity, and she beamed. "We have had our fun, we have done something to relieve our feelings, and you all were perfect. This has set us behind, so I'll be writing your reading assignment and reflection on the board. Please copy it down before you leave today. And remember," and here she mustered a stern expression, "everything that happened here is a great secret. So _when_ you tell your friends," she raised an eyebrow, "please use discretion about _who_ you tell and _who_ can hear you. I trust you have noticed by now that this is not a normal year at Hogwarts?"

Once again, the class assured her that they understood her perfectly.

1 "Croaking Bonbons- Eat at your own risk!"

2 Swedish for "I want to kill you with a spoon."

3 English rendering of Japanese for "You have a frog's face."

4 Russian; "My favorite badger is missing."

5 Hindi; "You are very racist."


	15. Third Flower Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Roots

A.N. Thank you so much for the reviews, and for taking a chance on an unusual story! The reviews have turned around some difficult days for me, lately. I'm grateful for everyone who took the time to leave one.

A.N. 2: Also, I really wish FFN preserved the fonts from my original document!

A window that looked into the inside of a lake, Rose thought, should have contained a serene and lovely view. But as she gazed into it from her desk, her quill poised in neglect over a student's homework, she only felt chilled. The light that reached the window, even in the brightness of noon, was a sickly green. Now, at a quarter to ten at night, the window was a murky black with occasional flickering suggestions of green and movement. The effect was quite eerie. But so much of Britain seems to be that, she mused. She shifted her gaze instead to her small fire and felt herself relax a little. At least, until a sharp knock on her door made her spine stiffen.

Being that it was a Thursday night, Rose doubted that it could be Harry, though part of her hoped that it would be. "Come in," she called, getting to her feet. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Severus Snape, still wrapped in a wet traveling cloak, hunched outside her door.

"Severus? What—?"

He shook his head impatiently. "May I come in?"

"Certainly," she said, too surprised to maintain the cold manner she had adopted toward him since her return to Hogwarts. He stepped into her office and removed his traveling cloak. Only when she shut the door did he seem prepared to speak, though he did not immediately do so.

"May I offer you some tea, Severus? I could have the kettle hot in a moment—"

Snape shook his head stiffly. "I am afraid there is not time for tea, Miss Evans. You are needed to assist in an urgent task for the Order of the Phoenix this evening. Professor Dumbledore wishes you to participate in this mission because it involves Muggles, and Muggles who live in your old home town of Cokeworth."

Rose frowned. "Our old home town, Severus. And what is this urgent mission? What am I needed to do?"

"You and Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt will go to the house of a certain Muggle, whose address I shall give you. You must put up safety wards around the house, and stand guard over it for the hour it takes for the wards to take effect. The lives of the Muggles who live there will almost certainly be claimed by Death Eaters if you do not succeed." Snape gave this information dispassionately, as if describing a mathematical theorem. Yet his eyes never left her face as he spoke.

Rose immediately made a grab for her boots and sat back down upon her chair. As she hurriedly removed her slippers and thrust her bare feet into her boots she observed, "Well, then we must go immediately! I wonder that you came back for reinforcements, Severus, and did not simply set the wards yourself!"

"You will have around an hour before the Death Eaters' meeting is concluded. The family should be safe for the moment, but you must be there before the hour is up." He glanced at her feet. "You have time for socks," he added indifferently.

"How is it that you know this? About the threat, and the duration of the Death Eaters' meeting, and… everything?" Rose's hands were hovering over her boots.

Severus continued to gaze at her steadily. "Because the meeting was at my house."

"Ah. Yes, of course." Rose tried to seem less startled than she felt at this information. She knew, of course, of Snape's work in Voldemort's inner circle; she had been present in the room when he revealed his Dark Mark to Cornelius Fudge, and had heard his work alluded to many times in Order meetings that year. Still, the idea of Snape hosting Death Eaters in his own home and listening calmly to their plans of murder and terror gave Rose a chill. She removed her boots, strode from her office into the adjoining bedroom, and went to her drawer for socks. When she returned, she was aware of his eyes following her every move.

"Well, that explains why the mission is to Cokeworth. I have not been back there for many years. You still keep a home there?"

He merely nodded, watching her put on her socks and hastily lace her boots. Rose felt annoyed at his terseness and his staring. She continued, "I'm glad you were able to leave the meeting early. I'm sure you thought of some pretext. Can you tell me why the Death Eaters wish to murder this poor family?"

Finally he took his eyes off of her, fixing on her rug as he answered. "Originally, it was only that the woman saw too much. She had been looking out her window as the Death Eaters arrived; several of them saw her watching them. Then, she was seen trying to look into the window, on the pretext of tending to her garden. One of her children knocked at the door, and another threw eggs at the front of the house and was heard to shout rude words, to the effect that Skinheads are not welcome in the neighborhood. The Dark Lord has asked for the whole family to be disposed of when the meeting is concluded."

Rose's boots were laced and double-knotted by this time and she nodded briskly. "Sounds like Cokeworth."

Severus' face knew the shade of a smirk. "Quite," he said.

Rose threw on her warm wool cloak and slid her wand into her sleeve. "We'd better go; it's been several minutes already. Where are we meeting Tonks and Kingsley?"

"I will not be accompanying you, Miss Evans," Snape said, a bit witheringly. "I cannot be seen among the Order of the Phoenix; surely you know that."

"Of course, of course," Rose stammered, feeling foolish. "Yes. So, where am I meeting the others?"

"Meet them in front of number 41, Spinner's End within the hour."

She nodded and headed for the door. He followed her to the door, and just before she opened it, he said, "Good luck, Miss Evans," in a low voice. She stopped in the hallway to glance at him, and noticed that his face wore a less sneering expression than it usually did.

She nodded. "Thank you, Severus."

* * *

The rain had stopped, but a chill mist enveloped the identical brick houses of Spinner's End. "Ugly place, innit?" Tonks remarked in a whisper.

Kingsley said nothing. Rose offered Tonks only a small smile. She was not sure that it was safe to speak. They had set up the wards within minutes of meeting on the path in front of the house, each of them walking perimeters around the house with its small, walled-in garden, each of them disillusioned and casting the spells silently. Now they were gathered in the corner of a shrubbery in the front of the house, nearly invisible heads bowed together.

Within the house, the radio blared a nasal-voiced singer: "You gotta say what you say,

Don't let anybody get in your way." A man's voice was shouting a profanity-laced tirade. From the upstairs window, a baby's insistent cry could be heard.

"Lucky thing they're so noisy," Tonks whispered again. "I don't think they'll hear us over all that."

"We should split up," Kingsley put in, in a voice so low it could barely be heard. "Tonks, why don't you take the back left garden. Rose, you cover the side of the house, there," he gestured, "and I'll stay in the front."

Rose hadn't been at her post for more than a minute before she heard it: a crack of apparition from the garden, on the other side from where Tonks was stationed. Rose started toward it, her heart in her mouth, when another crack sounded behind her. She spun around and acted before she even saw her opponent. Her stunning spell hit him directly in the chest, and he fell before he had advanced a single pace.

She turned back toward the first crack, wordlessly opening the gate and advancing into the garden. Though Tonks was still disillusioned, Rose could make out a kind of blurriness in the back garden that indicated where she must be standing. Rose could only hope that Tonks was also facing the masked man who was fully visible there, and who had turned at the sound of the gate's opening, his wand poised. "Who's there?" his rough voice called out. "Avery?" and then he, too, toppled to the ground at Tonks' silent spell.

Rose approached Tonks and whispered, "Shall we find Kingsley? Or stay here?" The third crack sounded before Tonks could answer. The sound echoed in the front of the yard. "Let's go," Tonks replied. They hurried to join Kingsley, whom they found standing over the body of a third, also stupefied, Death Eater. "Let's hope they're the only three," he said.

"What do we do with them?" Rose asked in a low voice. "Obliviate them?" She glanced down at the stupefied Death Eater and then looked again, more intently. His mask had slipped off, or Kingsley had taken it off, and his face looked extremely familiar.

"Later," Kingsley was saying. "For now, let's keep the perimeter covered. We'll go back to our stations and keep watch for more intruders, until the hour is up."

Rose, who had been studying the stunned man's face, suddenly gasped. She covered her hand with her mouth. Wormtail. He had considerably less of the colorless hair, now, and was even paler than she remembered him from Godric's Hollow. But there was no doubt in her mind that this was he.

"I want this one," she whispered urgently to Kingsley. "We need to bring this one back with us."

He glanced down. "You have business with Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Kingsley nodded once. "Very well. We can bring him back with us when the hour is up; won't be long. For now, let's resume our positions." Rose hesitated, then pointed her wand at Wormtail. "Incarcerous," she whispered, and walked back to her post on the side of the house.

Tonks had just disappeared into the back garden when the front door was flung open. The tirading man had come out onto the front step with a lit cigarette. "I will bloody well smoke in my own house if I damn well please!" he shouted in a slightly inebriated voice.

"You are not smoking in the house with the baby, Jeremy, I told you last week!" came a woman's shrill response.

The man stood on the porch and Rose stood frozen, unwilling to move and risk being heard, but terrified to get out of hearing. Go back inside, Jeremy, she willed silently. Take the world's shortest smoke break. Quit smoking. Just go back inside!

He seemed to hear her thoughts, for a few moments later she heard him twisting his foot on the step and opening the door. "All right, Sharon, all right, I've put it out. Happy? It's bleedin' freezing out," he grumbled as he re-entered the house.

But no sooner did Rose exhale than another crack rang out from the direction of the front yard. She crept to the edge of the house and peered around the side, where she could plainly see a masked, cloaked man had just appeared on the front walk to the house. Rose glanced around and saw the blur that was Kingsley move slightly. The Death Eater, who had long, silvery-blonde hair streaming down behind his mask, took two brisk steps and then fell to the ground, just before Kingsley's spell whooshed past him. The spell had missed, and the Death Eater appeared unhurt; he'd tripped over the body of Wormtail.

"Wormtail?" Rose heard the man say, and then he leapt to his feet. "Who's there?"

From the back garden Rose heard Tonks give a short cry and then came the sound of a body hitting the grass. The blur that was Kingsley disappeared around the other side of the house just as the blonde Death Eater pointed his wand at Wormtail. "Diffindo. Enervate."

Wormtail sat up, shaking his head in confusion. The blond Death Eater spoke again in haughty voice. "We've been betrayed. The Ministry, or the Order are here. On your guard, Wormtail." And they began to sidle around the other side of the house from where Rose stood.

Rose had heard no noise follow the sound of Tonks' fall, but she turned and ran as swiftly and as quietly as she could to the back garden through the still open gate. A slight blurriness in the middle of the garden revealed where Kingsley and Tonks were standing. "I'm so sorry," Tonks was hissing, "I just tripped on that bloke." Rose ran to them, and then around, so that her disillusioned body was between them and the direction from which she expected the blonde Death Eater and Peter to emerge.

At that moment, the two Death Eaters rounded the last corner and stopped. Rose could see the blonde Death Eater's eyes suddenly widen through his mask, and she guessed that he had perceived their forms in the grass. He began to lunge with his wand. Rose, too panicked to do a non-verbal spell, called out, "Protego!" The spells they would cast now effectively blocked, Peter and the blonde Death Eater simply charged them, running around the edges of the shield charm. A crack sounded behind her, and then a man's voice called out and everything went black. Rose knew no more.

When she awoke, Kingsley's face, no longer disillusioned, was just a foot away from Rose's own. "Miss Evans," he was saying. "Rose. Are you all right?"

Rose blinked a few times, then moved her hands and feet experimentally. "I think so. I was stunned?"

"Yes. You were lucky," Tonks answered. "We think the Death Eater who apparated behind you was afraid to use a killing curse in case he'd hit one of his own."

Rose sat up abruptly as her memory returned to her. "Pettigrew?" she asked Kingsley fearfully. She noted as she looked around that they were in the very back corner of the small garden, concealed behind a hedge.

He shook his head, regret in his dark eyes. "Disapparated. The whole lot of them. The shield charm you cast held, but MacNair hit you from around the back of it. We put up another, then, but of course, they still don't protect against killing curses."

"I made a run for it, then, to distract 'em," Tonks explained, "made a noise when I'd got around front, and they followed me to the street. And then Sharon there," she nodded her head in the direction of the house, "came outside with her dog. I was scared then, but when they tried to attack her they hit our enchantments and couldn't get through. She heard me running around back, though, and was shouting at me in the garden. She was getting ready to call those please-men, so I had to confund her." Tonks shook her head, frowning.

"It couldn't be helped," Kingsley told her. "They're safe now. And so, for the present, are we. I'm sorry; I had to carry you away from the house a bit."

"That's quite all right," Rose responded. She smiled into his serious face. "Thank you. Thank you both."

"Well done on that Shield Charm," Tonks said fervently. "We wouldn't have known which way they were coming from. Might have acted too late."

"If you can stand, Rose, we should disapparate," Kingsley said, his bald forehead wrinkling with concern. "We can both get you to Hogsmeade."

* * *

It had needed all her affection for her 9 o'clock class for Rose to to muster any enthusiasm for teaching on Friday. She rather limped through the day, both literally and figuratively, though she thought her students suspected nothing worse than fatigue or a mild cold was troubling her. By Sunday, her bruises had all darkened to purple, though the salve from her medicine kit had relieved the pain almost entirely. Two nights of hearty sleep had restored her to complete comfort, and to her pleasure, Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined her for tea at eight o'clock that evening.

"How lovely to see you! Please be comfortable!" she said warmly when she had shut the door behind them and they had removed the invisibility cloak.

"Oh, your office is so cozy. What a pretty carpet, Professor Evans!" Hermione enthused.

"'Rose' to you, Hermione." Rose corrected, smiling. "We're not in class." Though she did not know them as well as she had come to know Harry, she felt quite warmly toward the gangly boy and the earnest-eyed girl who seemed to accompany Harry everywhere he went.

Noticing Hermione eyeing her bookshelf longingly, Rose nodded encouragingly. "You're welcome to get a closer look, Hermione, and to borrow any that you like. Some are in French, though, be warned."

"Ooh, I've never read magical books in French! And oh!" she squealed, "You have Galatea Merrythought's In Our Defense!" Hermione approached the bookshelf swiftly, iron ore to a magnet, her hair seeming to crackle with energy.

Ron settled his limbs into an armchair and looked longingly at the chocolate biscuits. Harry pulled his chair closer to the table before sitting in it. He reached for his tea, with one sugar and one milk, quite comfortably. "Thanks. Ron likes two sugars in his. Hermione?"

"Mmm?" came her dreamy response from the rug, from where she was curled up with three open books at once.

"No sugar in your tea, right?" Harry asked.

"Mmm… what? No, no sugar. Just milk. Thank you, Rose!" Hermione approached the table, still holding an open book, and accepted her tea gratefully.

"Of course, Hermione, chère. You three are always welcome, as long as I can wear my slippers." Rose smiled at the sight of Hermione, already bent over the second book, her mouth moving silently as she read fixedly, her frizzy hair forming a halo around her dark face.

"Thanks, Rose," Ron acknowledged, and grinned as she placed a second chocolate biscuit on his plate. "Hits the spot, this does."

"Yes, well, I've heard you've had a busy week. On top of your coursework, you've had an illegal defense group to organize!" Rose could feel her eyes sparkling as the three of them glanced at each other in alarm.

Harry threw up his hands and let out an exasperated laugh. "So the whole Order really does know."

"Yes, they do." Rose confirmed. "And I think it's excellent. And a far better way to let out your frustration than loudly contradicting Dolores Umbridge every chance you get, don't you think, Harry?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair distractedly, causing James to flash before her eyes again. "Er, yes. It is. But I mean, it wasn't exactly my idea. Hermione-"

"Harry, we've been over this," Hermione said, without looking up from a fourth book which she had pulled from the shelf. "You're the most qualified person to lead it. Aside from actual Professors, of course," she added with a glance at Rose.

"We need you, mate." Ron said simply, giving Harry a sharp look.

Harry met his eye for a moment, then nodded. "It went really well," he admitted. "And we found the perfect place to meet; there's a secret room on the seventh floor that no one can open if they don't know the purpose to which it's being put."

"Good," said Rose briskly, "then I hope you'll accept my help. Tell me when the next meeting will be, and I'll be sure to get corridor patrol duty for the evening. I can head off Umbridge, if she's abroad, and I can also overlook an amazing amount of students who may be in the halls, perhaps even in groups of more than three at a time!" she added, raising an eyebrow at the reference to Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four.

"Oh, that'd be brilliant," said Ron.

"Yeah… it would." Harry nodded, but his face looked decidedly disquieted.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Rose asked quickly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He'll be worried about you, Pro- Rose."

Harry scowled. "Well, how many people have to be risking trouble for this? I don't care to have Rose put on probation on my account. Especially after you apparently put on a full prank circus for your inspection?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

She only laughed delightedly. "I see, we both have the dirt on one another. Guilty, Harry, but if you can blow off steam, surely you'll allow me to do it too."

"It was really quite fun," Hermione put in. She put two books back on the shelves and began running her finger lovingly over the spines of some others. Then, she noticed Ron and Harry staring at her with their mouths open.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said, beginning to laugh. "Fred and George starting to rub off on you?"

"Well, it's like Rose said," Hermione said, slightly pink in the face, "It feels good to fight back in small ways, even if they don't realize you're doing it, if the alternative is to just feel powerless."

"Hear, hear," said Harry, still looking amazed at Hermione's declaration. He glanced at Rose then, and they grinned at each other. "All right, I suppose it'd be good to have you on patrol for the next DA meeting. It'll be this Wednesday night, eight o'clock. Hermione, could you get her one of the galleons?"

Hermione reached into her pocket and withdrew a galleon. "I'm giving these out on Wednesday. Look at the serial numbers when you feel the galleon getting warm. They'll have arranged themselves into the date of the next meeting. See, now they say 1110800, for the eleventh of October, eight o'clock."

Rose took the galleon and gave an astonished laugh. "You did this? This is your spellwork, your Protean Charm?"

"Er, yes," Hermione said, looking pink again.

Rose only shook her head for a moment. Then, she patted Hermione's arm and said, "Well. Thank Merlin Harry's got you on his side. Thank you in advance, too, because I'm sure you're going to save his life one day."

"Already has," Harry said. "Ron too. I'd've snuffed it in first year if it weren't for them."

Rose leaned over and shook Ron's hand. "Cheers, Ron." He grinned.

"You shouldn't have much to do, though, Rose," said Harry. "We'll be sending everyone back in twos like last time, and anyway, we can watch for Umbridge on the Map."

"On the map? Which map is that?" Rose asked. "Did the room you found provide you a map of the castle?"

"No, this . . . this was my Dad's." And he drew a folded piece of parchment from his robe pocket and presented it to Rose. She took it curiously, and, seeing only a completely blank surface, tapped it once with her wand. Harry shook his head. "No, what you do with it is, you say-"

But Rose held up a hand and his voice dropped off. For ink had begun to appear on the parchment, arranging itself into a series of apparently handwritten letters.

 _Mr. Mooney presents his greetings to Miss Evans, and bids her to remember to practice her piano in preparation for their next duet._

Rose's mouth opened briefly, and then she began to smile. Ron, Hermione, and Harry pressed in around her to see the words that were forming next.

 _Mr. Prongs sounds a great "Hullo!" To Rosey, and congratulates her upon her appointment as Professor. He wishes to add that he always knew she'd make good!_

Tears were now crowding Rose's eyes. She hastily brushed them away and looked up at Harry. His mouth was open. When he met her eyes, she could see that he recognized his father's greeting. There was hardly time to remark upon it, however, before the ink dispersed and a new greeting was forming.

 _Mr. Padfoot would add to the remarks of his colleagues that Mademoiselle is divinely beautiful at every hour of the day, and he hopes she prefers him over Snivellus as a dance partner._

They were all laughing now, Rose covered with a brilliant blush which Ron might have envied. After the letters dispersed, they all waited for a fourth greeting to appear, but none did. Rose cleared her throat and gave the parchment a dark look. "So, Wormtail. You have nothing to say to me?"

More slowly this time, as if they were reluctant to form, the letters appeared again.

 _Mr. Wormtail also sends his greetings to Rose Evans, in expectation that he will meet her again in time._

Rose snorted. "Oh, I hope that we do, Wormtail. Speed the day that we do."


	16. Third Flower Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Crimson

For what felt like the seventieth time, Rose pulled the pins from her hair and shook it loose in frustration. _Why of all days_ , she wondered in irritation, _does my hair have to behave this way_ today? She stretched out her arms and wiggled her fingers to try to get some feeling back into her hands, contorted as they had been with wrapping and pinning hair onto the back of her head. She contemplated herself in the mirror. Aside from her lawless hair, she thought she looked passable. Her skin was a little flushed, it was true, but not unbecomingly so. _The navy blue robes have to go, though,_ she decided.

As she browsed in the mahogany wardrobe the school had furnished for her clothes, Rose's mind kept running over Mr. Padfoot's words in the Marauder's Map. _Divinely beautiful at every hour of the day_ , she recalled, and for the hundredth time she mused over the nature of the Map's intelligence. Clearly, the Map had been imbued with some kind of awareness of the person to whom it was speaking. That the Marauders had given this thing such intelligence was impressive in the extreme. The Map did not merely greet her as the Marauders would have greeted her child-self, but as the woman she was today. _But can the Map access its makers' present feelings and intentions?_ she wondered yet again. That was the rub. How it thrilled her to think of James greeting her from beyond the grave. How it disturbed her to think of Wormtail alluding to their meeting in Cokeworth in this way. And then there was Padfoot's greeting. _He hopes she prefers him over Snivellus as a dance partner,_ he had said. Did these words merely reflect the high-spirited manner of Sirius as a young man toward Lily's sister, or-

And then she paused, while fastening the buttons on a hammered-velvet Kelly green robe, to enjoy a moment which had occurred just after the Map had presented the greetings of Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had stood poised at her door for several minutes, heads bent over the map, waiting for the coast to be clear so that they could safely return to Gryffindor Tower. Every time they had started to go, one of them would notice a dot belonging to Argus Filch, or to Mrs. Norris, or to Severus Snape wandering inconveniently close to them, and they'd have to wait a little longer. Ron had already eaten two more chocolate biscuits, hovering by the door with his friends, and still Harry hesitated. At last, Hermione pointed at the Map and he nodded. "Coast's clear. Let's go, Ron."

Ron turned and waved cheerfully to Rose, a couple of chocolate crumbs dribbling from his mouth. Hermione whispered, "Good night R-Rose." And Harry had looked at her over his shoulder and waved. Rose had become very tense, watching them hesitate to go. She had been wondering if it was selfish of her to encourage to Harry and his friends to visit her, when Umbridge's regime at the school had made the consequences for rule breaking so dire. At the look on Rose's face, Harry had turned full around and grinned at her. "Don't be worried, Auntie," he'd said brightly as he adjusted the Cloak over his friends' shoulders, "We've done this a thousand times." He had disappeared under the Cloak then, and Ron's arm had briefly appeared as he opened the door. In one fluid movement they were all through it, and the door shut silently behind them.

 _Auntie_ , Rose thought fondly, her heart expanding once again. I'm _Auntie_ now. She had felt as if she were wearing the word, invisible, around her neck in the weeks since he'd said it. He had come to see her once more in October, filled with anecdotes about his secret defense group's doings, and happier than she'd seen him in weeks. He hadn't repeated the wordAuntie, but his casual ease as he'd told her everything he and his friends had been secretly doing in the Room of Requirement communicated eloquently. _He trusts me. I'm Auntie._ Rose wondered if she'd done something specific to have earned this title, or if he had simply gotten used to her by now. _It's an odd thing to wonder about,_ she thought, running the brush through her hair again. _Do parents obsess about their children's offhand words like this? Do Aunties?_

She returned to the problem of her hair. It simply wouldn't lie the way she wanted. In a few hours, she would be eating Sirius' birthday dinner. Her bags were packed, and nothing remained now to do but to arrange her hair. She sighed, and grimly told hold of the first pin.

Several hours later, Rose stood at the door to Number 12, Grimmauld Place with her carpet bag in her hand, a bakery box under her arm and another parcel in her hands. The bakery box was slipping, so that she was quite grateful that Sirius, rather than Kreacher, promptly answered the door himself. "There you are, Mademoiselle, let me help you with that. What, for me? You didn't need to bring anything. There's food here!"

"But it's your birthday, Paddy!" Rose could not help smiling broadly at his obvious delight. "I would have brought more if I could have carried it."

"Molly's made a goulash. Somebody tipped her off it was my birthday; I suspect Mooney." He seemed in unusually high spirits, humming to himself as he carried the bakery box into the kitchen.

Rose hung up her traveling cloak and took a silent moment to check her hair in the entryway mirror. "Do you want your present now, or after dinner?" she called when she heard him returning. "I always like to save my presents, but—"

"How can you stand to wait?" Sirius asked, reappearing in the front hall, where Rose had put her bag down. "Now, of course, or I won't be able to keep my mind on my goulash!" They went into the drawing room and sat side by side on the plush emerald loveseat. "Now," he cautioned, raising his hands a little, "Let me just say for the record that you didn't have to get me anything. I'll take a visit from the Killer Queen over a gift any time." She rolled her eyes, and he reached out eagerly. "Now that we've got that out of the way—"

Rose handed him the paper-wrapped package. "They only had plain brown paper," she apologized, "And you can probably guess what it is from the shape."

"A litter of kneazles? I knew it!" He jabbed a finger at her, pretending to take her laughter as confirmation. Then he tore into the paper, discarded it, and went silent.

Rose patted her hair. "I hope you like them. I mean, I didn't see that you had any of them. There's a receipt for the Muggle shop; I can return them in a few weeks if you—"

"Rose. They're perfect. I can't believe this!" In his lap were three of the five Queen albums that had been released since his imprisonment. She had had to go to two Muggle music stores to find more than one record; most stores were apparently selling these miniature records, called CDs, which Rose had been certain Sirius would not be able to play.

"They've another album coming out in a few days, but it wasn't quite available yet." She smiled, and felt herself flush as Sirius threw his arms around her in a fervent hug.

"You're brilliant," he said against her neck. "Thank you." Her blush deepened, but she made no effort to free herself until he released her and jumped to his feet at the sound of a knock at the door. "Mooney's here!" he cried, and strode over to let him in.

Remus was smiling broadly as he entered. He held a bottle of wine in one hand, but put it down at the sight of Sirius dashing toward him. The two men embraced, Sirius lifting Remus from the ground in his enthusiasm. "Happy birthday, old man!" said Remus, clapping Sirius on the back once he found himself back on the ground.

"You shut it, Moons," Sirius growled, though his eyes were twinkling, "Or I'll tell them what you did on your eighteenth! C'mon, help me get the dinner on." The two of them walked off toward the kitchen, Sirius' arm still companionably draped around Remus' shoulders.

Rose quickly stepped forward to relieve Tonks of the wrapped gift in her arms. "Hello, Tonks! I love what you're doing with your hair. Look, we match!" Tonks' hair was a shade brighter than Rose's robe, more of a lime green, but Tonks grinned at her anyway.

"Good to see you, Rose. You doin' alright at Hogwarts? How's life under Dolores Umbridge?"

"We're managing!" Rose replied cheerfully. "Oh, and I've got a story for you. I was inspected last week, and I had a couple of Weasleys do some contract work for me." Tonks followed Rose to the dining room and poured them both some wine.

Molly's goulash was excellent, and the wine prompted lively conversation around the table. Sirius, who was in a rare good mood, regaled them all with the tale of how Remus had once filled the Slytherin Common Room with garden snakes. "James and I had detention for two weeks; Minnie wouldn't have believed it was Remus' work if we'd told her. But we didn't mind. It was worth it. And anyway, we couldn't conjure on anything like the scale Remus could do. Suppose it did pay off somewhat, taking good notes and being a good boy in class."

"They should have thanked me," Remus said, smiling mildly over his wine. "Took care of their mouse problem for weeks."

Tonks laughed boisterously. "I'd tell you about the time I "accidentally" locked Snape in his office, assumed his face, and lectured as him for about fifteen minutes, but most of you know that one. Rose!" she said, leaning forward, "Tell them what you did for your inspection!"

"They already know!" laughed Rose, though she was pleased that this story had seemed to gain her some traction with Tonks. She and Tonks were, on the surface anyway, rather unalike. Rose sometimes had to work to conceal her annoyance at Tonks' loud voice and clumsiness, and she thought she sensed that Tonks thought that she, Rose, was wound a bit too tightly.

" _I_ don't know it!" Remus protested, so for Remus' benefit, Rose retold the story of her collaboration with the Weasley twins. She did not leave out a single recited greeting, as they seemed to be enjoying the story so much, and when she arrived at the part with the realistic kitten plate and the litter box, Remus surprised her by laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes.

"She's keeping the Marauder tradition for us at Hogwarts," Sirius said, clapping her on the shoulder in approval.

"But you have Harry and his illegal defense group for that," Rose reminded him, and they launched into a discussion about Dumbledore's Army that lasted through the rest of dinner.

After dinner, Rose had had enough wine to carry out the test she had devised. "Mooney," she asked, gaily, "What about a bit of a duet? Do you still play the piano?"

"I haven't in ages," he admitted, and her heart sank a little. "But d'you know, it's funny you should mention it; I was just thinking a couple of weeks ago about the duets we used to have at Godric's. Did you keep it up at school?"

"I did," Rose confirmed, her heart racing now. "And something recently put me in mind of our duets, too. Shall we entertain them?"

"It will be a poor job from me," Lupin said ruefully, but he stood anyway and soon they were in the drawing room, gathered around the old upright in the corner.

Rose rifled through the music on the shelf, found a simple waltz, and presented it to Lupin. "It's got mostly chord work on the bottom, there, Remus, it shouldn't be a big challenge."

He looked it over and nodded, Sirius stepping up to point his wand at the piano. "You have to take the enchantment off first," he explained, "otherwise it will just play spectacular fugues by itself as soon as you touch the keys."

Remus settled himself on the bench to Rose's left, and Rose chuckled as they caught each other's eye. "You used to be much taller, Mooney," she said, by way of explanation.

He said nothing, but chuckled too, and his eyes twinkled at her. Rose spread the music before them, Tonks and Sirius sat on chairs just over their shoulders, and two sets of hands stretched out and began to play.

Hours later, while she lay in the Blue Room, with the songs they had played echoing in her ears, Rose's mind was busy. Exactly how it worked she could never have guessed, but the Marauder's Map seemed to know something about the present. Back and forth her mind went, from greeting to greeting, each separate emotion like so many competing melodies. And always she returned to Sirius, and his grey eyes on her face as she told the story of her prank on Umbridge, and the way he smelled when he embraced her in the drawing room.

In her dreams that night, she walked the halls of Hogwarts, hurrying toward something, she did not know what, and pursued by the laughing voices of Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

The morning dawned gray and drizzly, but it was one of those gray mornings that manages to be cozy and peaceful rather than grim. When Rose had dressed and come downstairs, Remus and Tonks were flipping flapjacks; or rather, after Tonks' first attempts ended up on the floor and ceiling, Remus was flipping them. Tonks was leaning against the wall, snapping her bubblegum, joking with Remus, and stealing furtive glances at him when he wasn't looking at her. Her hair was a brilliant teal this morning. Rose smiled to herself as she poured her first cup of tea. By the time Sirius dragged himself downstairs, Remus had made a large stack of pancakes. Rose had cooked some bacon and prepared more tea, so they had a hearty breakfast. Sirius actually brewed coffee, which he and Tonks split between them, as Remus and Rose refused to touch it.

"We're Blacks," Sirius declared, nodding toward his cousin, "Takes a lot of liquor to get us drunk, and it takes a lot of caffeine to get us out of bed. We live hard."

Tonks hummed her agreement and raised her coffee mug in a toast, sloshing coffee over her purple Raging Hippogriffs tee-shirt. Remus quietly siphoned it off with a point of his wand, earning him another furtive look from Tonks when he'd looked away again.

"She keeps looking at him," Rose insisted to Sirius, once Remus and Tonks had gone for the morning. "Don't you think he likes her a little?"

"Of course he does," Sirius answered, rolling his eyes. "But it'd take an Act of the Wizengamot, an Act of Merlin, and a devastating earthquake all at once to get him to admit it."

"But why, Sirius? Is he so afraid of heartbreak? Who's gone and broken our Mooney's heart? I'll hex her," Rose threatened, looking so thunderous that Sirius grinned and pinched her arm lightly.

"That honor was bestowed a long time ago. Mooney's quite over little Jane McCarthy from Ravenclaw by now, I promise you. No, he's probably just refusing to let anyone get close to him again on account of his furry little problem. He never used to tell anyone at Hogwarts, you know, so it wasn't a factor. But he's a grown wolf now, and everyone in the Order knows, so he probably has some notion about protecting women from being saddled with him. Stupid sod," Sirius added affectionately.

Rose frowned, even as she felt her own affection for Remus Lupin swell a little higher. He had always been so kind to her. And, students at Hogwarts still sang his praises for being the most patient, effective Defense teacher they'd ever had. _After everything he's been through, he should have love_ , she thought. "Can't you talk him out of it, Paddy? He'll listen to you, surely."

He was about to respond in the negative, she could tell; but after looking at her for a moment he cleared his throat and replied, "Well. I can try."

Rose enjoyed that evening's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix much more than she had enjoyed most of their meetings. For one thing, she sat across from Sirius, who kept catching her eye and pulling faces at whatever Mad-Eye was saying. For another, she enjoyed Kingsley's praise when he made the report about their mission to Cokeworth. He was not an ebullient speaker, but in his slow, careful way he described the actions that each of them took and the resulting successes and failures. "Miss Evans was a great asset," he said, nodding in her direction. "She thought fast, and threw up a very timely shield charm which may have saved us injury or worse."

"I'm just as grateful to you and to Tonks, Kingsley," she responded, reddening. "If it weren't for you both, I'd probably still be stupefied and disillusioned at Spinner's End."

"And it it weren't for all three of you, those Muggles would likely be dead," was Moody's blunt rejoinder. "Besides, Evans, nonsense. We'd have sent someone after you. But we're all glad the mission was successful."

 _It would've been more successful if I'd managed to capture Pettigrew,_ Rose thought. She knew very well what his capture would have meant for Sirius, and she glanced at him again as the thought crossed her mind. He was looking at her approvingly, and he raised his eyebrows at her when she caught his eye. _I told you so,_ he seemed to be saying. Rose found much of the rest of the meeting very hard to follow. Her mind had begun to wander.

When the meeting broke up, Rose poured the wine herself and smiled at Sirius. As it was just the two of them, they had moved to the drawing room. "It's still your birthday weekend, Paddy. What would you like to do?"

"What I would like to do," he replied slowly, "is to leave this place, preferably never to return." His arms were behind his head, his legs stretched out in front of him. He would have seemed perfectly at his ease, except for the twitching of his leg.

"What would you do?" Rose asked, on impulse. "If you could leave, go anywhere you want right now, how would you celebrate your thirty-sixth?"

"I'd sail across the Channel," he responded, his eyes sweeping the ceiling as if he could see sparkling water instead of sallow, crumbling paint. "Feel the wind, hear the water, smell the salt. Maybe engage in some light piracy, who knows?" He grinned devilishly.

"You certainly look the part," Rose observed, amused. " _Can_ you sail, Paddy? I didn't know that."

"Good point," he responded seriously. "But how hard can it be? I think the two of us could probably figure it out. What do you say, Killer Queen? Would you be in for a sea voyage?"

"Across _La Manche?_ With you?" Rose considered, smiling. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that the closest she'd gotten to an outdoor expedition was the time she and several other junior members of the _Ministère_ had gotten lost in Manhattan. She'd never had even the remotest interest in exploring the outdoors, or escaping civilization; on the contrary, she reveled in the urbane and the civilized. But she suddenly realized, as she looked at his face, that if there was one person who could convince her to go on an outdoor adventure, it would be him. "You know, Paddy? I would."

"Brilliant. It's settled then. Someday, we'll go. I'll sell one of these stupid dusty artifacts here and we'll buy a boat. The _H.M.S._ _Killer Queen_ , I can see her gliding through the waters now."

Rose chuckled and sipped her wine. "What shall we do tonight, since we cannot yet begin our voyage? Exploding Snap? Disappearing _Coinche_? Or shall I play for you?" She nodded at the piano.

"I need to move," Sirius replied. "Feel I could run ten miles. It's maddening."

She nodded, hoping he could see on her face how much she wished she could help.

He shook his head, like a dog shaking off water. "Dance with me, Mademoiselle," he said suddenly. "You're an excellent dancer, and it would clear my head. Please?" His grin was like that of a much younger man, and Rose's heart skipped a beat as she looked at him, remembering the words on the Map. She was only too eager to comply.

"What shall we put on?" she asked, shifting her weight slightly as she got to her feet. "I wouldn't know how dance to most of your Queen songs."

"You can waltz, can't you? Course you can, course you can, I don't know what I was thinking." He took out his wand and pointed it first at one piece of furniture at a time. The furniture dutifully sprang back against the walls, leaving them more space at the center of the room. Next, he pointed his wand at the piano and muttered something under his breath. It began to play a heavy, romantic waltz of its own accord. Sirius bowed affectedly, and Rose laughed and took his outstretched hand. He swept her into position, and they began to dance.

Sirius was as graceful and as spirited a dancer as he had ever been. He seemed to put all his restless energy into the broad steps with which he steered her around the room, deftly avoiding the furniture. He hummed along with the melody, and grinned at her when she glanced at him.

"When did you learn to dance, anyway?" Rose asked after he turned her under his arm and then brought her close to him again. "You've always been good at it."

"They made all us pureblood brats learn," he replied, without breaking his step. "I liked to dance, actually, but the girls I had to dance with..." he shuddered. "But then my cousin Andy was at some of those balls sometimes, and she and I used to jump around together like a scandal. That'd be Tonks' mum," he explained. She only nodded, a bit breathless.

"It's funny, really," he continued. "If my parents met you at one of those Sacred Twenty-Eight-only balls, they'd heartily approve of you. You've got the manners, the graces, the look. And you're a damned good witch," he added, making her blush and almost miss her step. "But once they knew your last name, who your parents were, or rather, _weren't_ , I'd be forbidden to so much as talk to you."

"What a shame that would be," Rose said, trying to sound arch. "Since, as you say, I am such a good dancer."

Sirius snorted. "As if I've ever cared what my parents forbade me to do. They're lunatics, all these pureblood cultists. Look at you. You're marvelous. And lighter than air! Now, tell me I'm a better dancer than Severus Snape!"

Rose only laughed, feeling a bit giddy. When the song came to an end, she insisted upon a break. "If we're at a ball now, you'll have to allow me some punch, and a cool spot by the window." She made do with water, and used some Order member's discarded map of the Ministry of Magic as a makeshift fan.

Sirius also threw back a glass of water, but he seemed rather energized than tired. "Have you got another in you?" he asked. His face was eager, and his hands drummed the water glass. "Fancy a polka?"

"I don't know that we have the room!" Rose responded. She was flushed and glazed with perspiration, but her limbs were filled with a glad energy.

"Whatever are you talking about, Mademoiselle? We have the whole house!" Sirius replied merrily.

And soon they were galloping around the drawing room, the hall, the dining room, and they even appalled Kreacher by taking one romp around the kitchen. Sirius kept ruthlessly precise time, even as he skipped with energy from room to room. When the song finished, they were both breathless, and Rose was doubled over with laughter. "Did you see his face?" she asked, between gasps.

"He hasn't looked like that since Aunt Andy's last visit," Sirius was more composed but was smiling broadly, "And she'd given the portrait of Phineas Nigellus a haircut and hung the decorative Christmas fairies on the tree arse-side up." He poured them more wine. "A toast, Mademoiselle, to a job well done. And thank you. You're a bright light in this dark, miserable place."

She drank, glad that she could disguise her glowing cheeks with exertion. "And what now, Paddy? Do you rumba?"

He took some refreshing, but before long they were stepping smoothly in the drawing room to a jazz tune they had persuaded the piano to play. Rose could not help but think that Sirius looked more at his ease, and indeed, much happier, than she'd seen him in months. He was very polite, and he did not bring her closer to him than was necessary for the dance. She could still smell him, though, all firewhisky and smoke and perspiration. She was in no hurry for the song to end. When it did, he released her slowly and smiled. "Thank you, Rose. I feel a great deal better."

"I'm glad," was all Rose said. But she continued to gaze into his eyes.

He cleared his throat, but he did not look away. Long seconds of silence went by during which they stood, rather stupidly, arms at their sides, each unwilling to break their gaze. Rose's heart was pounding, but as the seconds ticked away her resolve congealed. _After all_ , she thought as she took the first tentative step toward him, _it worked with_ _Antoine Paquin in sixth. Still,_ her mind hesitated, _the stakes are rather higher now_. But before the resolve could leave her, she closed the last inches between them, stood up on her toes, and kissed him.

She felt his surprise, and for a moment she wasn't sure if he was kissing her back. But then she felt his mouth move on hers, and his hand went to her waist, and she exhaled, without breaking the kiss. _There it is_ , she thought. _The Map tells the truth_.

When they broke apart, their long silent gaze seemed about to resume and lengthen into minutes. But then Sirius took a deep breath, exhaling into an, "Ah." A moment passed, and he said gruffly, "So you feel that way, do you?"

"I do," she answered. She felt there was nothing more to say.

He sighed, and his face was a mixture of discomfort and longing. He put his arms around her and pressed her to him. "Oh Rose," he almost groaned. "I won't lie to you. I feel the same. I've wanted to do that for months."

"I've wanted to do that since the cave," Rose responded, her head leaning on his shoulder.

He let out his barking laugh. "You wanted to snog me when I was filthy and mangy and shouting at you in a damp cave?"

"Yes," she answered, earnestly. Instead of speaking more, she wrapped her arms around his waist, taking in the smell of him, the warmth from exertion that he was still radiating.

He hugged her back, placing his cheek against her hair and inhaling as if trying to breathe her in. "How could I help it? You've made friends with me, put up with me, told me what I needed to hear. You dance with me, bring me records, cheer me up. You're as beautiful as an angel." She smiled against his chest. _Divinely beautiful._ "And you sing me dismal French lullabies until I fall asleep, now how am I supposed to resist all that?"

She stood straight then and looked at him in indignation. "I didn't think you were conscious for that!"

He grinned at her, raising one eyebrow. "It really is a dreadfully macabre song. What made you pick it?"

She laughed softly. "Something I used to sing to Harry."

"Even worse! That poor boy; I wonder he isn't in Slytherin, with his ears all full of murder and cannibalism on the high seas." His face became sober then, and he shook his head. "You poor thing. Why did you have to go and fall in love with me?" His voice was mournful, though it still had a touch of levity.

"Well, and why not?" she asked, "You must know how devastatingly good looking you are." She grinned at him cheekily, her earlier shyness gone.

"But you- I mean, you should have better than me. _I_ can hardly walk into the Ministry of Magic and ask for a marriage license."

Rose raised her eyebrows. "Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren't we?"

"But you deserve someone with his whole life ahead of him." He was striding around the room now, gesturing with one arm, the other in his trouser pocket.

"You look pretty alive to me." Rose crossed her arms, following his movements with her eyes.

"I'm a wanted criminal, Rose!" he argued, though whether he was arguing with her or with himself, she wasn't sure. "I can't even leave this house with you. What can we do together?"

"Well, I think we've established that we can dance." Rose said gently. He laughed, and she crossed to him and took his hands. "You won't be a wanted criminal forever, Sirius. Voldemort won't be content to live in the shadows much longer. When he makes himself known, when the Ministry is forced to accept that he's back, and when his Death Eaters are recognized, it will be clear that you are not among them. And who knows, we may even be able to capture Pettigrew." She rubbed his thin hands with hers.

"But that's just it," he insisted, gray eyes wider than they usually were, "when Voldemort surfaces, then we're at open war. Fighting for our lives, fearful all the time. You don't remember how it was last time, but I do. It's hardly a time for-"

"Is it ever the wrong time to love? Haven't you had enough of enforced gloom, Sirius? Of loneliness, and alienation? I know I have."

"But it just makes everything so much harder. We already know we're going to fight for the Order. Half the original Order are dead. The odds are good one of us isn't going to make it through this one. We have to face that. And haven't we both had enough of grief?" He spoke every bit as intensely as he had that day in the cave, _but what a difference in the look in his face_ , Rose thought. His hands had slid from her hands to her arms, and he gripped them as he looked into her face.

"Do you think Lil and James regret it?" Rose asked softly. "The war was at its worst when they were married. Had one of them survived, do you think they'd have regretted their love? Regretted having Harry?"

He detached himself from her and sat down on the loveseat with a great creaking of spring and wood. "Children. And then there are children. I had forgotten about children." He put his head in his hands.

"Now we _are_ getting ahead of ourselves," Rose teased, sitting next to him. "Children can wait. Marriage can wait. But surely it's all right if I love you?"

He sat up then and looked at her, as if ascertaining how serious she was. When she neither took back her words nor laughed them away, he sighed heavily and drew her into his arms. "Ah, well. I'm not so much of a martyr as to say no to that; I'm not like Mooney. But- really, have you given it thought? You're very young, Rose."

Rose made a dismissive noise. "I'm old enough, Sirius." When he still looked doubtful, she continued. "I'm old enough to have lost my entire family and have learned to live without them. I'm old enough to have seen what war can do. I've traveled the world, met people, learned languages, and now I've come home. I'm old enough to have sorted out my priorities. I know what I want. What do you want?"

Sirius sighed heavily, and leaned his forehead against hers. "I want my freedom, it's true. But more than that, I want Harry to be safe. And I want this." This time he kissed her, and he did not hold back. She held his face in her hands, moving her thumbs over his stubble, opening her lips in welcome. One of his hands roamed up and down her back, the other played softly with her hair. Slowly, slowly, he took his mouth from hers, but when he moved back, there was still heat in his eyes.

"Funny," Rose murmured, gazing at him and continuing to stroke his cheek, "Those are my priorities, too."


	17. Third Flower Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Companion Planting

Rose returned to Hogwarts on Sunday evening to find the ground crunching with frost, and her breath visible as she walked the mile or so from the village to the castle grounds. It was a cold walk, for which she was not dressed as warmly as she would have liked to be. But a brisk pace kept her from being uncomfortably cold, and the twilight sky was splendid with purple clouds and early stars. She felt a warm serenity settle over her as the castle came into view, and hitched up her robe a little more so that she could walk faster. But as she passed the little copse of trees opposite the Quidditch pitch, she saw something that caused her to start in surprise, and to stop walking completely for a moment. There was smoke coming from the chimney of Hagrid's hut.

There was smoke coming from outside Hagrid's hut as well; as she approached, Rose could see him sitting, hunched, in front of a smoking fire pit. As he was already outside, she veered off the path to the castle to approach his hulking form.

"Good evening, Hagrid!" she called out when she was about twenty paces away.

"Wassat?" He startled, then peered into the smoky air between them. "Would that be Miss Rose Evans, out for an evening walk?"

"The same! I'm returning from Hogsmeade. May I warm myself at your fire?"

"Of course, of course. Yer always welcome. Nice night for it, eh?" She was close enough now to see his smiling face, rosy in the firelight, and when she did, she gasped.

"Hagrid! What's become of your poor face? Oh, my, it looks painful!" She put her carpet bag on a bed of pine needles and moved in for a closer look. His eye was swollen shut, and most of his face seemed to be one large, interconnected bruise.

"Not as bad as it looks, Miss Rose, don't you worry," he assured her. "Sit down and have a warm! Where have you spent your weekend?"

"I believe you know that place," Rose answered, giving a significant look. "Our friends there are well."

"Say no more, say no more, I'm the soul of discretion." Hagrid touched his finger to the side of his nose. "Saw yer nephew last night," he added, casually. "Him, and Ron an' Hermione, come out late at night, under tha' cloak o' his."

Rose looked around quickly to be sure that no one else was nearby to hear, and dropped her voice before replying, "Did they? I'm sure they had questions for you, too. You had us all worried, Hagrid!"

Hagrid chuckled amiably and stretched his feet in front of the crackling fire. "That's right sweet of you, but it's not necessary. It'd take more than a few giants ter keep me from Hogwarts for long. And how are you keeping, Miss Rose? I've heard you're teaching this year. Has this new Ministry woman, wossname, been ter inspect you yet?"

"Oh yes. I came off quite well, though it's all nonsense of course. My advice, Hagrid, if you'll allow me to give it, is to find out what she seems to want, and then give it to her. Dolores Umbridge wants us doing boring, safe, unimaginative, and most of all, _Ministry approved_ lessons." Rose leaned forward until she could feel the heat on her numbed cheeks.

"Yeah, 's what Hermione said," Hagrid mumbled. Then he cleared his throat and said more robustly, "I dunno, Miss Rose, kinda seems like she'll be determined ter fail me. Might be the giant thing; there's some folks as hold it against me."

"It may be so," Rose agreed. "But be of good cheer, Hagrid! How long do Defense Against the Dark Arts Teachers generally stay at Hogwarts, anyway?"

Hagrid's eyes crinkled as he chuckled, and Rose winced in sympathy, for with his swollen and bruised face she thought any change of expression must be painful. She looked up at the sky and saw more stars than she'd seen when she'd arrived at Hogsmeade. "Hagrid, my friend, I'm afraid I must retire. I have some marking which I rather neglected this weekend. Are you all right? Do you need any Dittany?"

"Nah, Dittany doesn't work on me. Giant blood, y'know. But I've got my own treatment. Thank yer kindly! I suppose I'll see you at breakfast?"

"That you will! Welcome back, Hagrid!" Rose picked up her carpet bag and waved cheerfully; Hagrid returned her wave, and she was soon striding briskly toward the castle again.

The air seemed colder now after her detour by the fire. Rose stuck her hands in her pockets for warmth, and then gasped and withdrew her left hand, startled. The enchanted galleon Hermione had given her was warming her pocket quite pleasantly. Even so, she pulled it out and lit her wand to see the serial numbers on the top of the coin. They now read, "0811800." Rose smiled, and replaced the coin in her robe pocket.

By Monday morning, Rose had arranged, with an extremely gratified Professor Flitwick, to take his corridor duty for Wednesday evening.

"Well done everyone! I think that will have to be the last round." Harry nodded appreciatively at the circle of students that surrounded him. "I think I saw every one of you do a Shield Charm, yeah?" Here and there students nodded; there were several murmurs of "yeah."

"Well, practice when you can. I don't need to say that we aren't practicing this stuff where Umbridge can see us-?" The looks on their faces told him he needn't have said it. Lee Jordan guffawed derisively. "All right then, we're going to focus on the Impediment Jinx next time. I've seen that used really effectively in Defense situations." He smiled to himself, remembering the way Barty Crouch, Junior's body had been thrown back against the wall when Rose had cast it at him. "We'll just get ready to go, then. It's almost curfew. Remember, get into pairs, no groups of three this time. We can't risk it."

The members of Dumbledore's Army began to chatter as they got into their pairs, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione assumed their places by the door, consulting the Marauder's Map with their heads close together. They studied it for a few minutes, and Harry was just getting ready to dismiss the first pair, Hannah Abbott and Ernie MacMillan, when Ron tugged at his arm. Harry looked where he was pointing and sucked in his breath. A dot labeled "Dolores Umbridge" was gliding steadily down the 7th floor corridor.

He held up his hand. "Hold it, Hannah, Ernie. Not yet." He watched the dot come closer and closer to the place where he knew the Room of Requirement should be, though of course, the Room didn't appear on the Marauder's Map. He felt his muscles tense, even though he knew she would have no way to find them without knowing to what purpose the room was being put. Still, he was relieved to see, after a few seconds, a dot labeled "Rose Evans" sweeping down from the other side of the corridor. The two dots met, just outside the entrance to the Room, and stayed near each other for a long minute. Then, they began to move, still side by side, away from the entrance and toward the stairs. Harry hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he let it all out in relief.

When Rose's and Umbridge's dots had appeared on the second floor corridor, still moving close together, Harry signaled to Hannah and Ernie and they began their release process. Two by two, the members of Dumbledore's Army trooped out, Lavender and Parvati, Terry and Anthony, Cho and Marietta, Luna and Neville, on and on until it was only the three of them waiting to go.

"Ready to go, then?" Ron asked. He was leaning on the wall, eating a sweet and pocketing the wrapper.

Harry did not respond at first, but continued to gaze at the map. Hermione looked too. "Oooh, are they still there?" she asked, furrowing her brow. For Rose's and Umbridge's dots could still be seen, next to each other, in the space where Harry knew Umbridge's office to be.

"Yeah…" Harry said, distractedly. He looked up at Ron. "Rose and Umbridge," he explained, "Still in Umbridge's office. But, I mean, we can go." He rubbed his neck, frowning.

"She'll be all right," Ron said bracingly. "She can handle herself. C'mon, Harry. Get the Cloak on."

Back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry kept sneaking looks at the Marauder's Map every chance he got. Ten-fifteen. Ten-thirty. The dots were still there. Ten-forty-five. Still there. At eleven o'clock, on the pretense of saying good-night, Hermione came over to Harry and leaned down. In an undertone, she asked, "Any movement?"

Harry lifted the parchment he had been using to cover the Map and looked. "There she goes!" he exclaimed, sitting up straight. Rose Evans' dot was moving into a staircase now. A minute later, her dot appeared in the dungeons.

"Right. I'm going down there," Harry announced, in a quiet yet firm voice.

"What, now? Why?" Hermione looked alarmed.

He leaned in, after glancing at Ron, who was playing chess with Dean. "If Umbridge got any information out of her, we need to know it now."

She looked inclined to argue, but he was already heading for the portrait hole. This was unusual, as Harry didn't usually allow people to see him leave after curfew when he was planning to use his cloak. But Seamus, Dean, Lavender, and Parvati were the closest to the door, and Seamus merely said, "Get me a butterbeer then, won't you Harry?"

Harry grinned, waved, and stepped out of the portrait hole. As soon as it swung shut behind him, and once he was away from the Fat Lady's disapproving glare, he drew his Cloak from his robes.

He knocked another of his nearly silent knocks on Rose's door. It was a few moments before she opened it this time. He was very near to knocking again when it opened part of the way. She was wearing her dressing gown and slippers, and her hair was unbraided. "Harry?" she whispered.

"Yes," he whispered back, and she immediately opened the door wider and stepped out of his way.

"What's the matter?" she asked, as soon as the door was shut and he was visible. Her eyebrows contracted with concern. "Did something happen?"

"Not to me, no." Harry looked at her closely. She looked tired, but not distressed. "Only, I saw on the Map you were in Umbridge's office for kind of a while. It's not-" he hesitated, wondering how to get at what he wanted to know. "It's not the best place to get stuck."

A smile was playing at Rose's mouth. "Were you worried about me, Harry?"

"Of course!" He felt mildly annoyed at her smile. "I know what she can get up to when she thinks no one else is watching."

Rose held up her hands, the backs of which were uninjured and smooth. "I'm all right." She sat down in her accustomed chair and gestured for him to sit as well. "I've got her number," she said in a low voice.

"But," she continued as he sank down in a chair, "We do seem to be in new territory now. Unfortunately, I just can't seem to shake the rumor that you and I are related in some way. All my deflection doesn't seem to be enough to banish it from her mind. I'm not sure what she intends to do with the information if she ever gains confirmation of it, but I'd rather not find out."

"Nor I," Harry agreed fervently. "So what did she do that took so long?"

Rose picked up her wand from the table and touched it to the teapot, muttering a spell under her breath. "She kept trying to catch me off guard. I think she mostly believes me to be harmless, French, with sawdust for brains. She's easily distracted in the moment with flattery or with questions about her ancestry. Keep that in mind, why don't you." She nodded at him, pouring the now piping tea into two cups. "But she did keep asking questions about my past, how long I'd been in England, was I born in France, why did I come to teach at Hogwarts, and similar. I told her my mother was French, my father, English, and both were diplomats who died years ago. That is as much as she knows. Then, she made me a cup of tea." She raised her eyebrows at him significantly.

Harry nearly spit his out. "Did she- did you- I mean, what happened next?" His stomach clenched.

She laughed quietly. "Honestly, Harry, what do you take me for? As if I'd ever drink anything Dolores Umbridge so much as looked at." His relief must have shown on his face, because she laughed again, then leaned forward and patted his detention hand. "The D.A. is safe, and still secret. She didn't ask anything that hinted at a suspicion in that direction. There, now, is that what you wanted to know?"

"Yes. Good." Harry's shoulders relaxed and he let out a great breath. "I mean," he said suddenly, "I was worried about you, too. I was."

"I know." She smiled at him. He smiled back.

"How was your weekend, then?" Rose asked. "I was back at Grimmauld."

"Oh, it was," Harry frowned and put his hand to his forehead, "complete crap. We won at Quidditch, but after the match I, er, got into a fight with Draco Malfoy."

"That blonde Slytherin boy with the face like-" she assumed a haughty smirk that made Harry snort.

"That's the one. He was saying . . . all kinds of foul things. About Ron's family. About my mother. George and I bloodied him up a bit. He'd been winding us up all day, really."

Rose said nothing, but just shook her head and sighed.

"So then," Harry said, resentment filling his voice as he remembered the scene, "McGonagall had us up in her office, you know, taking house points, giving detention. Fair enough, you know. But Umbridge came in, interrupted McGonagall, and said according to this new decree, she now has the authority to punish students for wrongdoing. And she's given me a lifelong ban from Quidditch. Fred and George too."

"Oh, Harry." Rose was frowning in consternation. "You love Quidditch."

"Yeah," Harry said, looking at his hands. "I do." There was a brief silence, during which Harry listened to the crackling of the fire and struggled, to his horror, against pricks of tears in the corner of his eyes.

"Well," came Rose's voice, "We must hope that her ban dies with her tenure as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. How much more time does precedent allow her, anyway?"

He chuckled. "About seven months." He looked at her clock, which read a quarter to midnight. "I'd better get to bed. Transfiguration in the morning, and all."

"Ah. Better start your homework, then." Rose responded, a teasing lilt in her voice.

"Right," Harry said dryly, getting to his feet.

"I've got something for you." Rose went to her desk, withdrew an envelope, and joined him near her door, holding it out.

"It's from Sirius," she whispered as he took it. "So read it when you're alone. And Harry?" Rose put her hands on his shoulders, and Harry noticed that he was looking down to look at her, now. "What you're doing with the D.A., it's so important. It's not fair that you can't have a normal year at school. These are… hostile times. But you're rising to them admirably. Your father would be so proud. Lily would be proud. _I'm_ proud."

He nodded, dropping his eyes, and gave a small smile before saying, "Thanks. Good night."

"Good night, Harry."

Sirius was forbidden to play his Queen albums on the nights following full moons. He hosted Remus Lupin during and after most full moons, and after his transformation, Remus's comfort required quiet. Rock and roll was right out, as were shouting, bounding around, and loud laughing; "So, all of Sirius' favorite activities," Remus said wryly to Rose. But Sirius submitted to this with good grace, keeping his voice low, and even suffering one of Remus' jazz records to be played on his record player.

 _He really loves Remus_ _Lupin_ , Rose observed to herself. She knew people like Molly Weasley saw Sirius' exuberance as proof of his lack of maturity, or possibly even lack of morality. But to her mind, Sirius' intensity extended to every aspect of him: his moods, his desires, his loves. She was not blind to his flaws, but she deeply admired his strengths. _And surely, one of those strengths is his loyalty to his friends,_ she thought, as she watched Sirius walk up the stairs behind the exhausted Remus, one hand at the ready to steady him if he should stumble.

Before joining Sirius upstairs, Rose decided to make tea. It was not an all-purpose cure for every ailment, she knew, but to her mind, it came close. Rose poured a second cup for Sirius, and, deciding a tea tray was unnecessary for two cups, took one cup in each hand and ascended the stairs, her wand pinched between her fingers. When she reached Remus' room, she realized she had not figured on opening the door handle. Sighing, she put the cups on the floor, freeing her wand hand. Before she could cast the levitation charm she intended, however, she heard Sirius' voice.

"Mooney, your objections don't amount to a heap of dung, you know. Tonks likes you. She knows what you are. She knows your situation. She's young, yes, but she's old enough to know what she wants."

Rose smiled. But just as she made ready to go in, she heard Lupin's dry voice reply, "I'll keep that in mind, thank you, Sirius. Incidentally old man, and speaking of, you want to be careful."

"And what am I supposed to be in danger of now?" Sirius asked, with a small chuckle.

"You remember how James always used to say Rosey liked you? Well, he's not here to say it anymore, so I will. I suspect she still likes you. Don't play with her, Padfoot. Lily's sister, and all." Suddenly Rose found she was no longer in a hurry to enter; instead, she levitated the cups silently and took a step backwards, still listening.

Sirius gave a real chuckle now. "She's beat you to it, Moons. She told me herself, last month."

"Oh dear." Lupin sounded sorrowful. "What did you do?"

Silence. "You didn't." Lupin sounded appalled now. "Sirius, really, you're incorrigible. Have you ever once stopped to think before performing an action?"

"It's not like that!" Sirius was defensive now, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm not- I'm not messing her around. I wouldn't. She's marvelous. I think I'm in love, Mooney, I really do."

Remus snorted. "Well, there's a first time for everything. But listen, since we're giving out unsolicited advice up here… take it easy, all right? She's very young."

"Older than Tonks." Sirius pointed out. 

"Exactly. Which is why-" but they fell silent, for at that moment Rose's spell hit the middle stair and they heard the sonorous creaking sound. After a few seconds, Rose allowed her own feet to be heard rounding the corner. She took hold of the levitating teacups and knocked smartly.

"Come in, then, Rosey," said Sirius.

She entered, smiling, hoping her cheeks were not too flushed. "I've made you tea, Remus. I knew Sirius would just ply you with Ogden's, which will make your head worse."

Lupin gave a genuine, if tired, smile. "Thank you, Rose, that's very thoughtful." She placed his cup on his bedside table, then turned to hand the other cup to Sirius.

He waved it away. "Thank you, I've got my Ogden's. Headache be damned. You drink the tea, Rose. In fact, keep Mooney company for a bit, won't you? I'm going to see what I can rustle up to eat." He gave her a tender look and kissed the top of her head, glanced at Remus pointedly, and left the room.

"It's good to see you so often, Remus," Rose said. She could feel that she was still flushed. She sipped her tea and hoped it would soon pass.

"And you, Rose. But you don't have to keep me company. I'm perfectly content to be on my own."

"Would you prefer to be alone? Or are you just being polite? I enjoy keeping you company," she said, with perfect sincerity.

He smiled sleepily. "Stay, then. Tell me how things are at Hogwarts. How is Harry?"

Rose caught him up on Dumbledore's Army, her classes, and Harry's Quidditch ban. When she ran out of news, Rose simply smiled at him over her cup of tea.

After a brief, contented silence, Remus spoke again. "Sirius tells me I'm on your good list."

Rose hummed a nervous little laugh. "What an odd thing to say. What do you suppose he meant by that?"

Remus fixed his kind eyes on the ceiling as he answered, slowly. "I think he means that I'm one of only a few people that you really trust. That you've decided I'm all right."

"I suppose that's true," said Rose. "It is a short list. And you are on it, Mooney."

"I'm flattered, Rose," he said, with a small smile. "It doesn't strike you as odd, though, that the short list of people you trust contains a convicted murderer and a lycanthrope?"

Rose laughed quietly. "And a teenager. You are a very distinguished set."

"Why is it such a short list, Rose?"

Rose finished her tea, put down her cup, and considered this. "Well. I suppose I feel rather an alien from most of the Order." Lupin's mild gaze rested on her as she spoke. "Because I didn't go to Hogwarts, I didn't go to school with any of them, so I don't know them as well as I might. Being that I'm Muggle born, I'm not familiar with many English Wizarding families. I didn't fight in the last war. I sometimes feel like an outsider eavesdropping at the meetings."

"But that year at Godric's Hollow was one of the happiest times of my life. That's strange, isn't it?" She mused, studying the intricately patterned curtains in Remus' room. "I mean, I had just lost my parents and my home. Petunia had made it clear she was finished with me. So of course, I was terribly sad some of the time. And yet I was very, very happy the rest of the time. I didn't feel like an orphan at all, not until I was at school. Lily surrounded me with love. James treated me like I really was his sister. And you and Sirius and Peter were always coming round, and there was laughter and fun. I remember how much quieter you were than Sirius, and I liked you. You all felt like my family."

When Rose look back at Remus, he had a peculiar, rather sad look in his eyes. He didn't say anything for a moment, but then he cleared his throat. "I'm very glad you've come back to England, Rose," he said. "And I know that Sirius and Harry are too. And I _am_ your friend." From downstairs came the sound of Sirius singing, and they smiled at one another.

"You should consider adding some names to your list, though, Rose." Remus went on. "Kingsley and Bill think very well of you, and Tonks likes you very much."

"Does she? How can you tell?"

"She's told me. She thinks you're very clever, and she admires your cheek toward Dolores Umbridge. In truth, though, I think she's a bit intimidated by you."

"By me? But why?" Rose frowned. Tonks had always seemed to her the epitome of someone at home in England, among the Order, and in her own skin.

"I suppose because of all the ways in which you're different from her. You're graceful, where she can be… dexterously challenged. You express yourself very differently than she does. And your clothes, I suppose, seem elegant to her. But she would be happy to be befriended, I think. Just a thought."

"Thank you, Remus. I'd like that." She went quiet for a moment, and then gave him a small, affectionate nudge. "You're my favorite lycanthrope, you know."

He smiled broadly. "Oh, you do remind me of Lily. I was very fond of her, you know. And you've got her eyes."

"Lily and I both got our mother's eyes," Rose corrected. "But I got Dad's hair."

They fell silent. Rose hummed quietly, from another of the lullabies she used to sing to Harry, and Remus closed his eyes. "Do you want privacy, Mooney?" she asked softly.

He cracked his eyes open. "No, I'm just tired. I'm not very good company just now, I'm afraid. But I like to be around people after- it makes me feel more human."

"Were you reading this?" Rose motioned to the bedside table where a leather-bound, wine-colored book lay. She picked it up and read the spine. Marcus Aurelius. _Meditations_.

"I was. I've read it before, but it bears re-reading. Have you read it?"

"I have not." Rose was turning the pages, noticing the signs of wear on them. "May I read it to you?"

"If you like." Remus had closed his eyes again, but he spoke perfectly distinctly.

She opened the book to the bookmarked place and began at the beginning of the chapter.

"When you find yourself, in a morning, averse to rise, have this thought at hand: I arise to the proper business of a man: And shall I be averse to set about that work for which I was born, and for which I was brought into the universe? Have I this constitution and furniture of soul granted me by nature, that I may lie among bed-clothes and keep myself warm?"*

Rose read on, quite enjoying the enlarging, elevating ideas, and the beautiful words as they rolled through her mouth. Remus did not open his eyes, but she did not believe him to be asleep. All was very peaceful when Sirius re-entered the room. She was reading, "Judge no speech or action unsuitable to you, which is according to nature; and be not dissuaded from it, by any ensuing censure or reproach of others. But if the speaking or acting thus be honourable, don't undervalue yourself so much as to think you are unworthy to speak or act thus."*

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically when she looked up, and mimed an almighty yawn. She smiled and looked over at Remus. He appeared to be on the brink of sleep, but his eyes cracked open when Sirius said, in a low voice,

"Honestly, Mooney, I leave her with you for half an hour and I come back to find you boring her to death. You can't be trusted with women, mate. A word of advice: don't ask Tonks to read you that rubbish. She doesn't have Rosey's patience."

Remus smiled wanly, as Rose protested, "But I liked it, truly I did! I enjoy reading aloud."

Sirius snorted, though his eyes twinkled. "Do you want to eat, Mooney?"

"I think I'll sleep," Remus said, in a barely audible voice.

"All right then. C'mon, Rosey, there's bangers downstairs." He smiled at her and walked away.

Rose replaced the bookmark and put the book back on the table. "Goodnight, Mooney. And Mooney?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to return the favor. You know what I think? Tonks really likes you, too."

A ghost of a smile was all the response he could manage, but Rose's satisfaction as she descended the stairs was complete.

The dining room table was set for three. Rose picked up the third plate and goblet and went into the kitchen to find Sirius actually mashing potatoes.

"Not quite bored to sleep, then, Mademoiselle?" he asked, as she put the dishes away.

"Not a bit of it," she answered. "He's a lovely person."

"He is," Sirius agreed. "Stubborn, of course, and stuffy and stilted and totally stuck in his own head. Dreadful taste in music. But he is," nodding as he poured the melted butter into the mash, "A good sort. Noble, you know."

"I hate to break it to you, Sirius," Rose teased, "But I also love a Bob Dylan album."

"Well, that's because you haven't been educated," he replied. "With enough exposure, I'm sure you'll be brought around to right ways of thinking."

They continued to discuss the relative merits of folk and rock and roll, Muggle and Wizarding music as they brought the food to the table, sat down, and poured the wine.

"You're too far away!" Rose complained. The wide, formal dining table felt absurdly large for the two of them.

"Well, that can be fixed," he said, quickly moving his setting to the end of the table so they sat around the corner from one another. "Better?" He leaned suddenly and pushed his face to within a few inches of hers. He blinked at her solemnly for several seconds before Rose threw her head back and laughed. Before he could sit back entirely, she leaned forward and kissed him.

She had meant for the kiss to be brief and teasing, but he responded enthusiastically, one of his hands holding her face, humming his approval deep in his throat. When they broke apart, she laughed softly, a bit flustered. She looked down at their hands, which were now entwined on the table.

"What?" he asked, smiling into her face.

"I was just thinking I should ask Mooney to give me some tips on casting a Patronus," Rose answered. "I think I might just be able to do it."

*Both selections come from chapter 5 of Marcus Aurelius' _Meditations_

13


	18. Third Flower Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Black Hellebore

 **A.N. I'm somebody who cares a lot about dates. If you are too, then maybe you'll enjoy knowing that Chapter 18 begins on November 5, includes a D.A. meeting that took place on November 8, and ends at Grimmauld Place on December 8. This episode begins on December 18, and ends Christmas Day.**

 **Please review!**

When Harry and Cho drew apart, Harry could feel her tears on his own face. He passed his jumper sleeve over his own face, and then, his heart thumping powerfully, he wiped her tears away too. She smiled, and his heart seized at how beautiful she was, even under her glaze of tears.

"We should get back," she whispered, and he nodded. He had checked the Map just before Hermione and Ron had left, and had seen no teachers but Rose's solitary dot. So, hoping that nothing had changed since then, he walked with Cho to the door and stepped out the Room of Requirement. They did not speak, but on inspiration, Harry seized Cho's hand as they walked. She blushed, but smiled at him out of the corner of her eyes, and they walked hand in hand down the hall. When they came to the staircase, however, Cho went to turn into it, and Harry remembered that she was heading to Ravenclaw Tower. _Does she expect me to walk her back to her common room?_ he wondered. He made no objections, however, following the pressure of her hand as she led them down the stairs and toward the west end of the castle. He was in something of a daze.

Cho kept to the shadowed side of the corridor, and Harry suddenly appreciated he was in the castle after curfew, unCloaked, and without access to the Map. He thought about drawing either the Cloak or the Map out of his robe, but somehow felt that he would rather risk detention than tell anyone but Ron and Hermione about his two great treasures. Also, he found the idea of getting detention for something as normal as sneaking around with a girl after curfew to be oddly exciting. He squeezed Cho's hand in a fit of daring, and she smiled at him and squeezed back.

When they came around a corridor and heard a footstep coming up the stairs, however, Harry's sense of daring abandoned him. He pulled Cho further into the shadows and was on the point of drawing out his Invisibility Cloak anyway, when Rose appeared before him. His initial relief was quickly overcome by the realization that Cho, who did not know his relation to Rose, was also a party to the scene. Rose's face showed the same quick succession of emotions, from recognition and pleasure, to a more guarded expression as she took in Cho, and their linked hands.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Chang, it is past curfew," Rose said mildly. "Do you have an explanation?"

"Er." Harry squirmed uncomfortably. He was fairly sure she was not going to tell McGonagall, would probably not even give them detention, but he knew he needed to furnish some kind of reason which would give her an excuse to let them off. "We were just-"

"It's my fault, Professor," Cho interrupted. "We were studying, you see. Defense Against the Dark Arts. I didn't understand the chapter Professor Umbridge wanted us to read for homework, and Harry did. He's good at Defense." She smiled at him, and his chest expanded with a golden feeling, despite their awkward situation.

"We lost track of time, Professor," Harry said, trying to sound apologetic. "I said I'd walk her back to Ravenclaw Tower, because she was worried about getting in trouble."

"And you thought you'd be able to keep her out of it, did you?" Rose said, raising an eyebrow. Harry wondered if she was enjoying this.

"Well, no, only, just, keep her company." They had released each other's hands soon after she came into view, but Rose's eyes flickered down to their hands anyway and she smirked.

"I'll tell you what, Mr. Potter," she said after a pause, in which Cho studied the floor and Rose cocked her head and looked stern. "I have never personally caught either of you out of your common rooms before. You're only fifteen minutes after curfew. I will continue my patrol down this corridor," she motioned in the direction from which Harry and Cho had just come, "And you will _quickly_ escort Miss Chang to Ravenclaw Tower. But if I see either of you again this evening after fifteen minutes has passed, I will have you _both_ in detention. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry and Cho both said at once.

"Good," Rose said, and she began to glide serenely down the hall. "As you were."

Harry and Cho resumed their walk at a slightly faster pace, but stopped abruptly when Rose called out, "Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Professor?" he replied. _What can she want now?_

Rose's eyes flashed mischievously as she smiled at them. "I said, _as you were,_ Mr. Potter." She looked pointedly at their hands, and Harry could feel himself going beet red. Oh, he owed her for this.

"Yes, Professor," said Harry, and he took Cho's hand again and hurried with her down the corridor.

* * *

It was dawn when Rose found herself awake, shivering in a cool breeze that had suddenly filled her room. When she opened her eyes she almost cried out. A silver cat was walking up and down her body on her bed. Its feet made no impression whatsoever on her blanket, but she felt its invigorating presence as it stopped to knead at her legs. It brought to mind her long ago desire to have a cat of her own, and she almost reached out to scratch its ears before realizing that this cat was a Patronus.

When she sat up, the cat looked at her and, apparently satisfied that she was awake, it opened its mouth and spoke in Minerva McGonagall's clipped voice.

"Miss Rose Evans. Please be advised that Harry Potter and the Weasley children have all been taken to Headquarters in London. Arthur Weasley has sustained injuries in the course of his work for the Order. His family is waiting in London for such time as he can receive visitors. You will hold classes today as usual. You must appear to have no knowledge that Harry or the Weasleys have gone. You are to wait until the end of term tomorrow morning to leave Hogwarts. Do not reply to this message." And with that, the cat disappeared with a _pop._

Rose sat in her bed and considered this message for several minutes. The essentials were perfectly plain, of course. But they hid details which she desperately wanted to know. How was Mr. Weasley injured? Her heart went out to him, and to the family she had come to love. Why was Harry with them? Of course, he would want to be with his friend, but surely having him disappear along with the Weasleys was both dangerously suspicious and unnecessary. What part had Harry had in the events of last night? It had only been- she checked her mantel clock- eight hours since she'd seen him, hand in hand with Cho Chang. She wondered if he'd slept at all that night.

After a few minutes of puzzlement in which her tired mind made no progress in understanding the situation, Rose got up with a sigh. Last day before the holidays it might be, but it would be a dull first hour class without Fred and George Weasley.

The next twenty-four hours seemed interminably long. Her classes were a mere formality, as they were mainly turning back homework and tests and going over the brief exercise she'd assigned for the students to do over the Christmas holiday. After that, she allowed the students to exchange gifts and holiday greetings, and to consult with her at her desk on any subject which they wished to discuss. A few students, including the red-eyed Hermione Granger, took her up on it. She and Hermione had looked at each other and shared a wan smile, knowing they were both worried about the same thing, and she gave Hermione a one-armed hug before class dismissed. But most students chattered about frivolous things, excited for the holidays, gossiping about who had gotten what for whom for Christmas, and generally in high spirits.

The evening meal was festive, with Albus Dumbledore actually making an appearance to preside over it and give a brief holiday message. Rose was in turmoil by evening, however. She'd heard nothing about Mr. Weasley's status, and suspense gnawed at her with every new Christmas carol the suits of armor began. Finally, she completed her final corridor duty for the term and could reasonably withdraw to the solitude of her room, to pass a night of restless sleep. In the morning, she was at Hogsmeade before the sun could melt the frost. By nine o'clock, she was on the doorstep to Grimmauld Place.

Sirius met her at the door and gave her a swift, strong hug. "They're all right," he answered, before she could form the question foremost in her mind. "Arthur's going to be fine."

"Harry?" she asked him, as Mrs. Weasley came bustling over to greet her. She looked tired.

"Harry's all right," Sirius assured her. But his eyes looked troubled. And then Molly was hugging her and offering her bacon and potatoes, and she had to leave the question for a few minutes. She satisfied Molly and Sirius both by sitting down to a hearty breakfast, as Molly explained their situation in a tired but cheerful voice.

Rose was nearly finished with her breakfast when Ginny, Fred, George, and Ron came around the corner and sat down at the table. Fred had a deck of cards in his hands which began to shuffle themselves when he placed them in the middle of the table. Rose sat up and swallowed hastily. "Well hello!" she greeted them when she had taken a sip of her water. Turning to Fred and George, she said, "You two were greatly missed in class yesterday!"

George grinned at her. "I'm sure it was devastating for all involved. How are you coping, Professor?"

"I might ask you all the same," Rose began, when Molly stuck her head in from the kitchen.

"I won't have you lot bothering your Professor! She's trying to eat her breakfast!" Molly said, frowning at her children.

"Oh no, Molly, they aren't, truly," Rose said earnestly. "I've missed them. My class was quite dull yesterday without Fred and George."

Molly snorted. "I'll bet it was," she retorted, "And I daresay you didn't mind it, Rose." Her expression looked milder. "All right, then, so long as you aren't too loud." And she returned to the kitchen.

Rose called after her, "And I suspect you of doing the washing up, Molly, when you ought to be having a rest! Sirius and I can manage it. Please let us do that."

"Oh, don't be silly, dear," came her voice, "I'm nearly done. It helps me, you know."

"It's your turn dealing, Fred," said Ginny, who was sitting cross legged with a blanket in her lap.

Rose returned to her breakfast and watched Fred begin to deal out the cards with interest. "What are you playing? Exploding Snap?"

"Indeed," Fred responded cheerfully. He stopped dealing, suddenly, and said to Ginny, "Watch this." He waved his wand and said, " _Dispertio_." The cards began to distribute themselves from player to player, though rather more sloppily than when he was doing it by hand.

"Show-off," Ginny grumbled. "It doesn't actually go any faster, you're just lazy."

"Why isn't my dear nephew playing with you?" Rose asked, amused.

Ron and Ginny glanced at each other. "Er, Harry's feeling a bit knackered," Ron explained, just as Ginny said, "He's refusing to come out of his room at the moment."

Ron glared at Ginny, who looked at Rose, unabashed. "He won't talk to any of us, ever since we got back from St. Mungo's," she added.

"Oh dear," said Rose. "I wonder what can be bothering him. Any ideas?"

The Weasleys exchanged a look. Ron looked at Rose, then looked meaningfully in the direction of Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen, then back at her. She nodded. Clearly they did not like to say in front of their mother. At that moment, Sirius strode in and picked up Rose's now empty plate and goblet. He brought them into the kitchen, whistling. When he returned, he said, "Rosey. Come here, won't you?"

Rose smiled to the Weasley children at got to her feet. Ginny waved, and Ron said, "See you later, Rose."

In the library, Sirius put his arm around Rose. At first, she wondered if he had only invited her into the room to have a discreet snog, but then he put his head near hers and said quietly, "Harry had a sort of vision two days ago. He saw Arthur being attacked by Voldemort's snake- that's how we learned about it in the first place. But he saw it from the snake's point of view. It's got him upset. He thinks Voldemort's in his mind."

"He told you this?" Rose asked, frowning.

"Yes, when he arrived." Sirius spoke calmly in her ear, but when she looked up at him, his face was troubled. "He also said something about seeing Dumbledore just before he left and having an urge to attack him. I told him it was probably just his overtired mind."

"The Weasley children seem to think something happened at St. Mungo's to upset him," Rose suggested.

"Yes, well," Sirius said, a shade testily, "As I'm not able to leave the house, I don't know what happened at St. Mungo's. But he's not been downstairs since they came back from there yesterday afternoon."

Rose pondered this, while another part of her mind enjoyed the excuse to embrace Sirius. She thought back to what Dumbledore had told her over the summer: _The inside of Harry's head is a most unsafe place for information about the anti-Voldemort movement._ What did Dumbledore know, or suspect, about Harry? And why in the name of Merlin didn't he tell anyone what he knew?

"I wish Professor Dumbledore weren't so secretive," she confessed.

Sirius let out a mirthless chuckle. "Yes, well, no arguments here."

"I'm sure he could tell us something about Harry, and Harry needs to know it. It's not fair to keep him ignorant about what's going on in his own head."

"You think something is going on, then? I mean, apart from a tendency to have incredibly informative dreams."

She shook her head. "I don't know. But I wonder. Anyway, I'd like to see him. Have you tried?"

"He won't let anyone in but Ron. He won't talk to anyone who comes in. Just lies there. Poor kid." Sirius squeezed Rose's shoulders, and she leaned into his embrace.

"I'm going to give it a go," she whispered, before she kissed his cheek, detached herself from his arms, and walked out of the room.

Rose found the door to Harry and Ron's room closed and locked, as she had suspected she would. Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly. "Harry?"

His response took a few seconds, so that Rose wondered if she'd woken him. Then, in a voice that sounded raspy with lack of use, he said, "Yeah?"

"It's Au- It's Rose, Harry. Can I come in?"

A moment. Then- "I suppose. Yes."

She pointed her wand at the handle of the door. _"Alohomora."_

Harry looked terrible. There were circles under his eyes, which were puffy. His hair was matted and chaotic. His clothes were wrinkled and, she suspected, had not been washed in some time. Rose tried not to stare at him in concern, instead drawing a chair up to where he stretched out on his bed and sitting down to smile at him. "Hello." He only grunted, looked at her briefly, then lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling.

She decided it was best to be straightforward. "Harry, Sirius told me you're a bit worried about the vision you saw. Because, he says, you saw it from the snake's perspective. What is it about the vision that's keeping you from your meals?"

He took another long time to answer. Then he said in a monotone, "I don't think I'm safe to be around. You should probably go."

Her heart sank. She'd never seen him this despondent. "Well," she said, speaking with more brightness than she felt, "I always was a good duelist. My reflexes are pretty sharp, and you're not looking at your best, to be honest, Harry. So I think I'll chance it."

He looked at her again, then returned his gaze to the ceiling and went silent. She pressed, "Harry, what is it you're worried about? Maybe I can help."

"Rose… no offense, but you really don't know anything about Voldemort possessing people. So I really don't know how you could." He spoke in the same monotone, then put his arm over his eyes as if the light was too much for him. It went to Rose's heart.

"So you think Voldemort might have possessed you?" she asked, gently. After a moment, he nodded, still looking fixedly at the ceiling. "Well, it seems to me that what he's done is to possess the snake. And he took you along for the ride in a sort of dream. I don't see that you had any more involvement than that."

Harry sighed. "You don't understand. It wasn't just what I was seeing. I _was_ the snake."

"You mean, you felt what the snake felt, and wanted what it wanted?" No wonder he was so shaken. Rose's insides tightened in sympathy.

"Yes." Harry said simply. He still wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I see." Rose kept her voice mild, though her mind was reeling. What access did Voldemort have to Harry's mind? _How much does Dumbledore know-?_ She cleared her throat. "So… is this the first time that you've felt Voldemort's feelings?"

"Well," he hesitated. "Well, no."

"Then what makes this time different?" she asked.

Harry was silent. Rose chanced a look at him, though, and saw that he was frowning, deep in thought. Just when she was considering what else she could say, he said, "Thanks. I know you're trying to make me feel better. But I heard something yesterday." He was quiet for a few seconds, and then muttered, "Rose, I- I need a sleep."

Rose recognized the dismissal and got to her feet. "I'll say you do. And a shower and a change of clothes and a good meal, I think. Will you come out for lunch?"

"I don't know," he said dully, still looking away from her, but she stepped closer to him and tried to catch his eye.

"Harry. Please eat. Can I bring you a sandwich?"

He shook his head. "You don't need to-"

"Harry." He looked at her this time. "Please."

He sighed. "All right," he said resignedly, and, almost as an afterthought, "Thanks."

"I'll be back in an hour with your sandwich." She and leaned closer to him, pulled up his sheet, and smoothed his turbulent hair. "You didn't do this," she whispered. "Voldemort did it. It's not your fault." And then, anxious to give him the privacy he asked for, she hurriedly left the room.

When Rose emerged she nearly ran into Ginny, who was hovering in the hallway with crossed arms. "Did he listen to you?" Ginny asked in a whisper.

Rose motioned for Ginny to follow her down the stairs before answering. "He heard me. He said he'll eat. I don't think I went a long way toward convincing him he can come out of his room, though."

Ginny's mouth pursed her brow furrowed. "He's being an idiot. I mean, sorry, Professor-"

"That's all right, Ginny, tell me what you think." Rose smiled at her fervor.

Ginny shook her head, scowling, in frustration. "As if we'd let him wall himself off because of what we heard yesterday. As if we'd bail on him because of some stupid snake trick. We're his friends. Did you know Harry saved my life in my first year?"

"I did not." Rose was intrigued. "Was that part of the affair with the basilisk?" Ginny nodded. "You should tell me about it this afternoon. But, I've just had an idea." Rose was remembering Hermione's quick reads on Harry's moods, the way she seemed to instinctively know which approach to take with him. "Has anyone tried owling Hermione?"

Ginny nodded slowly. "It's a thought. She's on a ski trip with her parents, but I think she might be willing to cut that short. I'll send her an owl. No, wait," she smiled a bit mischievously, "I'll get Ron to do it."

"I'll leave it to you and Hermione, then." Rose replied, smiling at Ginny. "There are times when young people are more willing to listen to their friends than anyone else. I'll get him a sandwich and keep him alive; you get Hermione here and put an end to this."

Ginny nodded once, looking determined. Rose thought that she looked very much like Fred and George as she said, "On it," and strode off in search of Ron.

When Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place, rosy-cheeked, snowy-haired, and purposeful-looking, Rose felt she could have kissed her. "She'll set this right, you watch," Rose told Sirius in French. "She and Ginny. They'll have him sorted in time for a late dinner."

And it was so. That evening, newly showered and freshly clothed, Harry watched his friends play Exploding Snap at the dining room table as he ate a bacon sandwich and a bowl of Mrs. Weasley's carrot soup. Rose caught Ginny's eye behind his back and gave her a thumbs-up. Ginny grinned, just as Harry turned around and Rose assumed an innocent expression.

With Arthur Weasley on the mend, and with Harry out of his self-imposed quarantine, Rose and Sirius were able to concentrate on preparations for the Order of the Phoenix's Christmas party, which was to be held on Christmas Eve in the Great Room at headquarters. Rose learned that even in the worst days of the first war, the Order never let a Christmas go by without a festive gathering. As Elphias Doge explained during the last Order meeting before Christmas, "We need to remind ourselves what we're fighting for." Dedalus Diggle planned to bring his fiddle; there would be a regular English country dance to follow the pudding.

Rose happily assisted Sirius in cleaning and decorating the house, stringing garlands onto the chandeliers, and helping to subdue the fairies which they used to decorate the Christmas tree. Sirius reduced them all to fits of laughter with his comical lyrics for the Christmas carols Mrs. Weasley sang, and with his decision to place Father Christmas hats and beards on the stuffed elf heads on the wall. In the evenings, Rose and Sirius would retire to the library, sometimes in the company of Remus and Tonks, for wine and cards. On those nights which found them alone, they sat together under the fairy lights, exchanging tender words and more than a few long, drowsy kisses.

On Saturday, at lunch, the talk was all about the next day's party. "What sort of dancing are we doing?" Fred wanted to know. "Is it that stuff they did while Dad and Mum were in school?"

"The Celestina Warbeck Shuffle, wasn't it, Mum?" George asked, earning himself a swat from Molly.

"It'll be English Country dancing, of the old sort. Older even than your parents," Rose said, smiling. "Probably longwise, as-many-as-will, sets and turns, that sort of thing, you know."

"I know Fred and George are old enough to have danced at Bilius' Christmas parties," said Molly, leaning back and squinting into the middle distance, "But I don't know that Ron and Ginny have done that sort of dancing before."

"And I'm not about to start now," Ron muttered. Hermione looked slightly crestfallen at this, Rose noticed.

"Well, I think Sirius and I could probably give everyone a refresher, couldn't we, Sirius?" Rose met his eyes, which were positively snapping with life at the suggestion.

"I think we could manage that," he agreed, smiling benevolently at them all.

So, after lunch, Sirius pushed back the furniture with his wand and Rose and Sirius, Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione lined up to learn to bow, to set and turn, balance and swing, and bow. Harry and Ron were distinctly awkward about this, but after watching Ron shuffle half-heartedly through a few steps, refusing to meet Hermione's eye, Rose stepped in. "Come on then, Ron, it isn't so hard. Give me your right hand."

Ron's face was vermillion now, but he complied. With Sirius' encouragement, he learned to shift his weight correctly, to step forward and back, and to do a half and a full turn. Harry, paired with Ginny, was a bit more willing, though not more skilled, and Hermione was distinctly wrong-footed at first. But by the time Sirius and Rose finally laughingly declared the lesson over and began to entertain them with a lively polka, the young people knew enough, Rose thought, to get along with.

Rose thought on Christmas Eve that she had never seen Sirius look so happy. He seemed to feed off the energy of the people who packed his drawing room, dining room, and library. He was everywhere at once, joking with Fred and George, chatting up Hestia Jones and Emmeline Vance, whispering insinuations to Lupin, who was talking to Tonks in a corner (remarks, which, whatever they were, made Lupin redden and swat at Sirius, who only laughed loudly). He happily served pudding and poured drinks, in such high energy that Molly Weasley was effectively prevented from lifting a finger. They had no help from Kreacher; no one had seen him for days ("Probably hiding under my parents' bed trying to make a blanket of the dust," Sirius had predicted, rolling his eyes). Rose saw his effort to keep Molly from undue strain, though, and loved him for it. She did all that she could see to do to help distribute the pudding, refill drinks, and see to the comfort of all. If, every so often, she took a detour into the library to make sure that Harry was eating and to ply him with additional pudding and butterbeer, Sirius didn't seem to blame her at all.

When the pudding was concluded and Dedalus Diggle began to warm up his fiddle, Rose and Sirius pushed back the chairs in a now-familiar ritual and then smiled at each other. "Am I taking it for granted that you will dance with me?" he asked in her ear.

"It has been my pleasure these fifteen years, Paddy," Rose answered, smiling at him warmly. She felt her happiness must radiate out from her fingertips, her cheeks, and the ends of her hair; surely it warmed the whole house.

"Cast a Bell!" Diggle called the first dance. "As many as will!"

As the host, Sirius stood at the front of the two lines which were forming in the drawing room. He bowed, not affectedly this time, but with real grace. Rose responded with a ready courtesy which caused an outburst of applause around them. The line of dancers stretched into the dining room, but Diggle had charmed his voice and fiddle to project to the very end of the line. Rose was amused to see Fred and George dragging Ron to a place across from Hermione in the line, and to see Harry, red faced, paired with Ginny next to them. Bill Weasley had made his mother beam when he took her hand and led her to a spot across from him, holding her hand theatrically high. Nymphadora Tonks looked almost as apprehensive as Ron, but Lupin was smiling at her with such open pleasure in her company that she seemed unable to help smiling back.

"Start with a double!" sang out Diggle, "Forwards and back, set and turn." And he began to play. The dancers,with varying levels of skill, began to tread out the pattern of the dance. She and Sirius deftly switched places, and set and turned with their neighbors. Toward each other, the lines moved, and away, some dancers moving on the very crest of the beat, some a little behind or ahead, but all working determinedly as if it were a task necessary to life itself. _And it is_ , Rose thought as she joyfully took hands with her neighbor, Kingsley Shacklebolt, _It is necessary._ As the Members of the Order of the Phoenix moved over the floor, she felt they were weaving some sort of strong fabric. On the outside, it was unyielding as armor, but within, Rose felt, it was warm, bright, and enveloping as the flannel blanket she had once bought at Hogsmeade.

12


	19. Third Flower Chapter 20

**A.N. For those who want to know, the first part of this chapter takes place on December 26th, St. Stephen's Day. The second section takes place on the 27th. The third section takes place on Twelfth Night, January 5th, which was a Friday in 1996. Hogwarts resumes classes on January 8th; this will be the date of Harry's first Occlumency Lesson.**

 **If you want to do some back dating, Chapter 17 took place on November 3rd (Sirius' birthday) and November 4th, 1995.**

Chapter 20: Dew

"I'm telling you, there's something going on between those two," Ron insisted, waving his hand of cards for emphasis.

"Well, obviously," said Hermione, sighing. "What I can't understand is why there's still any doubt of it." She put her cards down. "I can't concentrate until we're done talking. I don't want it to be my cards exploding this time; my hair's singed already."

"I don't know, though," Harry said slowly, frowning. "Sirius likes to have a good time. He can kind of be… well, you know."

"A flirt?" Hermione suggested.

"Well, I guess." Harry said, rolling his eyes as Ron smirked. "He's got a lot of energy."

"And that could explain it, if Rose wasn't so obviously smitten with him too," Hermione replied. "Look at the way she was looking at him while they were dancing at Christmas. And what are they doing in the library all the time, so confidential? No, Harry, you'd better face facts. Your aunt and your godfather are an item. Now can we get on with the game? Otherwise I may as well get back to my book."

Ron looked over his shoulder, then looked back, a look of sorrow in his eyes. "We're out of snacks," he said, mournfully. "That was the last cauldron cake."

"And I'm thirsty," Hermione complained. There was silence for a few seconds while Ron licked the last of the cauldron cake residue from his fingers and Hermione watched him in disgust. "What are you calling her these days, anyway, Harry?" she asked, apparently to block out the sight of Ron wiping his sticky hands on his shirt. "Aunt? Or Rose, still?"

Harry shrugged. "She doesn't seem to care."

"She's good value, Harry," Ron told him. "Fred told me he tried to cast one of his paper fishes during her class and she turned it on him. Made it attack him and pretended to have no idea what was happening. Wish I could have seen it."

" _I_ told you about that," Hermione said, sounding irritated. "I told you the day it happened."

"Yeah, but Fred's version was funnier," Ron responded, chuckling. "Harry, you should call her Auntie. But in French!" he said, on inspiration. "Hermione, what's French for auntie?"

"Tata," Hermione responded.

"Tata," Ron imitated her. "There you go. Hey Harry? You couldn't nip down for some more snacks in your Cloak, could you? I know there's some pudding left from the party, but if Mum knows we're nicking food, she'll lock it up."

"Sure. Be back in a minute," Harry responded, getting to his feet and throwing on the Cloak.

"Get some butterbeers too, Harry?" asked Hermione.

Harry nodded, then remembered she couldn't see that under the Cloak. "Sure," he said quietly, and then stole out of the room and down the stairs. He'd learned by now that one had to step on only the left side of the third stair, keep to the edge of the fifth, and avoid the eighth altogether. Counting the stairs as he went, Harry was able to arrive at the bottom without the smallest creak of noise. It was like a game. But what he saw in the drawing room on the way to the kitchen put him off his game entirely.

In the corner of the room, under a sprig of magically flowering mistletoe, Sirius and Rose were energetically snogging. Sirius' arms were around Rose's waist, hers were around his neck, and the two seemed impervious to everything but one another.

Harry froze. For a few seconds, he was torn between the urge to get away from the scene as quickly as possible without being noticed, and a kind of disturbed fascination. This was kissing on another level from what one regularly saw at Hogwarts. It certainly put Roger Davies' efforts upon his blonde, Hufflepuff girlfriend to shame. Harry was wondering abstractedly how one managed to breathe when snogging with this kind of intensity, when he shifted his weight onto his back foot and the floor let out a loud creak.

Sirius and Rose broke apart and looked around. Harry began to shuffle in the direction of the kitchen as silently as he could manage.

"Someone's here," Sirius said, drawing his wand.

"It'll be Harry in his Cloak," came Rose's voice. She sighed. "Go and talk to him, Sirius."

Harry hurried into the kitchen, as Sirius was now blocking his retreat to the stairs. Sirius trailed Harry as he strode into the kitchen and stood in the doorway with an expression that was part chagrin, part amusement. "Harry. Come on, leave off hiding."

Harry took off the cloak, wishing he could keep it on to hide his burning face. "I came down for snacks," he explained, unable to look his godfather in the eye.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Molly's got the food locked up. But, here." And he pointed his wand at a high cabinet, which sprang open to reveal the rest of the pudding, cauldron cakes, and two packets of crisps. "Take what you want." Harry grabbed a packet of crisps and a quarter of a pudding, then shut the cabinet. While Harry took three butterburs from the icebox, Sirius locked the cabinet with his wand. Then he put his hand on the back of his neck. "Harry, you might as well know. Your aunt and I, we're- well, together."

"Are you?" Harry could not resist a sarcastic show of surprise. "Wow. I could never have worked that out."

Sirius chuckled awkwardly. "I hope you don't mind. It doesn't stop either of us from caring about you, of course."

Harry looked at the floor, considering. His face was still a bit red, but he found himself grinning as he answered slowly, "No… I don't mind. Just- you know, be nice to her."

Sirius blinked, and his mouth opened and shut soundlessly. Then he spluttered, "What- what do you think I was doing just now? Performing unforgivable curses? I call- that- being fairly nice, don't you?"

Harry laughed, his heart now light, his embarrassment gone as Sirius' grew. "All right, then." When he had managed to gather up the food and the butterbeers and toss the cloak sloppily over most of his body, Harry left the kitchen and headed back toward the stairs. As he passed the drawing room, Rose, who had composed herself and was sitting on the sofa, called out placidly, "All right, Harry? Did you get enough butterbeer?"

Harry smiled under the Cloak. " _Oui, Tata,_ " he replied, and he heard her answering chuckle. Sirius had walked past Harry into the drawing room and sat down next to her on the sofa. Harry stopped on his way to the stairs. On an impulse borne of his recent embarrassment, he called quietly, "Oi, Rose?"

"Yes, Harry?" her voice smiled.

" _As you were._ " She laughed again, and Harry smirked until, about halfway up the stairs, he was struck in the back of the head by a sofa cushion.

"Watch yourself on those steps, Harry, they're tricky!" Rose sang out, as Sirius struggled to repress a roar of laughter.

Harry opened the door to his and Ron's room abruptly. He found Ron and Hermione sitting rather closer to one another than when he had left. They weren't touching, but Ron still twitched away from her and turned scarlet when Harry entered. Harry rolled his eyes under the Cloak; this sort of thing was becoming more and more frequent. He thought he minded the awkwardness Ron and Hermione plainly felt more than he minded their slow steps toward each other.

"Was there pudding then, Harry?" Ron asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Or butterbeer?" Hermione asked hopefully, then clapped her hands with gratification when he drew off the Cloak and she saw what he was holding.

"Cheers, Harry," said Ron, as Harry distributed the butterbeer.

"A toast to Hermione," Harry said, raising his bottle. "Who is always right."

"What about, this time?" Hermione asked, smiling as Ron clapped her on the back.

Harry quaffed his butterbeer and drew closer to his friends. "Listen to what I found downstairs."

* * *

Most nights Rose and Sirius stayed up late, making much of the time after the Weasleys went to bed. They had decided together to keep their attachment from becoming a distraction to the Weasley family, so that while Rose thought Molly suspected some level of flirtation was going on, it was not generally known that Sirius spent a good portion of each night kissing Rose in the library, and in the drawing room, and in the kitchen. They felt drawn to one another, perhaps from the long years of their loneliness, like cold wanderers in a campfire. Indeed, Rose found it difficult, now that they had begun, to refrain from putting her arms around Sirius at every opportunity. But two days after Christmas, the late nights had started to weigh on Sirius. He still did not sleep well, and though he owned he had been sleeping better- "Thanks to you, Mademoiselle," he had told her, kissing her forehead- he was still frequently wakeful. After his fourth yawn, Rose insisted on his going to bed.

"Are you going to tuck me in?" he teased her, getting to his feet wearily.

"If you're good, and go to bed without a fuss," she answered, patting his shoulder.

Now, Rose sat in her bed and waited for a sleep which eluded her. She tried her usual method of paging through her letters and photographs, smiling over Harry's baby hands grasping at the cat, and at James' and Sirius' arms around each other. But still she felt awake, out of synch with the hour. She was beginning to think about turning off the light anyway when a sudden noise caught her attention.

It was a sort of whine, one that made the hair on her arms stand up. It might have been the sound of an injured dog. Rose went tense, listening for it to sound again. The atmosphere of the house and the late hour created a distinctly eerie backdrop for such a sound. There it was again, a high pitched, thin wail that conveyed unearthly misery. Rose lit her wand, stepped into the hall, and as the sound reproduced itself, her shoulders dropped. The sound was coming from Sirius' room.

At first, Rose had the wild thought that someone or something had broken into Sirius' room. Could Kreacher have reemerged? Could he have made such a sound? But when she opened the door this idea was dispelled. Sirius himself was making the noise, and even as she looked at him, curled on his side, gripping his sheet, he let out another high, keening sound. _He is dreaming_ , she realized.

Sirius' face was contorted into an expression of anguish; a fine glaze of sweat covered his forehead. _This is why he doesn't want to sleep._ She knelt at the side of his bed and hesitated only a second before wiping the perspiration from his forehead and whispering, "Sirius. Paddy. Wake up."

There was no change in his state, except that his face twitched and assumed such a miserable expression that it brought tears to Rose's eyes. When he made the sound again, she spoke a bit louder. "Sirius. You're dreaming. Wake up, darling." She patted his face, and he suddenly drew in a massive breath and grabbed her shoulders. His eyes were wide. Alarmed, she backed up, taking his hands from her shoulders, but he was already exhaling back onto his pillow. "Rosey. You scared me to death."

"I scared _you_?" she admonished, putting her hand to her chest. He tried to laugh, but he was breathing too hard. She put her hand on his arm. "You were in Azkaban again." It was not a question.

He nodded, and in his eyes she saw the haunted look she had seen that day in the cave. But this time, she did what she could not do then. She put her arms around him, pulling him close. He put his face on her shoulder, and she tightened her hold on him. For a long time, they clung to each other.

When he released her, Rose sat down on the edge of his bed and began stroking his hair, as she had done when he had laid his head in her lap all those weeks before. "How often do you have these dreams?" she asked him quietly.

"Don't really know. I don't usually remember them." He rolled onto his side to face her; she continued to stroke his hair. "I just wake up sore and know I slept badly."

"And it's worse here, in this house?"

"Yes," was all he said. But it was a weary, heavy word. Several minutes passed in which she massaged his head, and he lay with his eyes closed.

Then he took her hand and kissed her palm. "You're a divinity, Mademoiselle." When his eyes opened, it was to smile at her with a hint of the roguish look he had when he was preparing to tell a joke. "You'd better get back to your room or you'll scandalize the Weasleys."

Rose knew he was right, but she didn't move, or even let go of his hand. She was half tempted to cast a couple of choice spells on Sirius' door and crawl into his bed next to him, so as to be there should the dreams come again. But no; they had agreed. They would not draw that kind of attention to the state of things between them, not while the family was there. Not while Arthur was recovering. For just a moment longer, though, she looked at his face, or what she could see of it in the dark.

"I want so much for you to be free of it, Paddy," she told him.

His voice was gruff as he said, "Nothing's been able to hold me yet, Mademoiselle." And he squeezed her hand. She kissed him, then stole back to her room and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Twelfth Night brought more festivities to Grimmauld Place. The day began with an uproar, when Mrs. Weasley opened a pie case in the kitchen and was immediately accosted by twelve live birds. The twins, who, as it turned out had conjured them, insisted it was a muggle tradition, which resulted in Mr. Weasley eagerly questioning Hermione, Rose and Harry over breakfast about the purpose of the custom.

In the afternoon, the young people, Sirius, and Rose, played parlor games. At Arthur's request for "a Muggle game!" Hermione and Rose taught Harry, Sirius, and the Weasleys how to play Charades. In the evening, Sirius kept everyone's mugs brimful of spiced cider and mulled wine, while Rose taught the Weasley children how to play Disappearing _Coinche_. In time, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny had learned well enough to play on their own, though Rose sat behind Ginny and Ron in an advisory role for a time. She was in the act of pointing out the best use for Ginny's ace in an undertone when Fred and George came down the stairs.

"The Boggart's back," George declared as all of them looked up at them. "It's in the master bedroom cupboard."

"We call it." Fred added.

"What, you want to get rid of it?" Sirius asked. "Fine by me. Your mother might have something to say about it-"

"No, for research purposes." George explained. "We're testing our newest product, Riddik-tacles. Automatically alters your perception of frightening things. Given the direction things are going, we think there'll be a huge market for products such as these."

"You're probably right," said Rose. "I suppose that's all right, if you're there to spot each other. We're all listening for you. Do shout if it gives you trouble, won't you?"

"Piece of cake," said Fred breezily. "Both our biggest fears are boredom." And they both ascended the stairs again.

After supper, Harry climbed the stairs to his room in a contented state of mind. He had had another delicious meal, he did not have to return to school until Sunday, and the evening promised more games, sweets, and general holiday pursuits until Mrs. Weasley chivvied them off to bed. At which point, he knew, they would just wait for quiet and sneak into Hermione's room for more of the same. All his fear and worry about his vision of Voldemort's snake notwithstanding, he thought, this had turned out to be one of his better holidays. In his room, Harry pulled on a jumper and located the one Ron had requested. He stood for a moment at the window, holding Ron's jumper, and enjoying the quiet, when he become aware that the quiet was not absolute.

From directly above him, Harry could make out shouting. A woman's voice, certainly. At first he thought it must be Mrs. Weasley, raising her voice at the twins as usual. But it did not seem to be her voice. It was too high, too clear, and somehow, too _young_ to belong to Mrs. Weasley. Harry could not help but follow his curiosity up the stairs.

The voice was coming from the master bedroom. The door was open, and inside, Harry could see Rose, standing and looking intently at something he could not see. She was pale and trembling slightly, and her knuckles around the wand in her clenched hand were white. Her face showed both fascination and horror in equal degree, her wide green eyes fixed on something on the other side of the room which was shouting at her alarmingly loudly.

"We let you live with us! We fed you! We sent you to school! We sent you to ballet, got you everything you could want, and what do you do? You ABANDON Harry!"

Harry's eyes widened. He moved silently into the room to see the source of these invectives. What he saw made his heart sink into his stomach and his blood turn to ice. Rose was staring at the form of his mother. Lily's face was flushed with anger, her eyes flashed. She was positively electric with rage as she screamed at Rose,

"You went away to France and FORGOT ABOUT HIM! Petunia locked him in a CUPBOARD! Vernon hit him, my baby! And what were you doing? Exactly as you please, as you've always done! We fought a WAR, saw our friends die, risked our lives! I gave my LIFE to protect Harry, and you couldn't give him a few YEARS?"

Rose had backed all the way to the wall by now. She looked pale, and there were tears in her eyes, but she did not seem overly frightened. She seemed to recognize, as Harry now understood, that she was looking at a Boggart. She raised her wand, but hesitated as the Boggart Lily drew a deep breath and continued her declamation, speaking in a cruel, mocking voice this time.

"Oh, you were _so_ worried, 'Oh, Harry, don't forget me!' 'Lily, don't let him forget me.' But YOU forgot him! YOU ARE NO SISTER OF MINE!"

The sound of Harry drawing his wand alerted Rose suddenly to his presence. She met Harry's eyes, her own full of tears, looking mortified. Then she cleared her throat and in a small but firm voice she said, " _Riddikulus_." Immediately, the Boggart Lily was transformed, melting into a potted plant with delicate, white blossoms. One more jerk of Rose's wand and the plant disappeared with a resounding _CRACK_.

"Come up for some extra Defense Against the Dark Arts Practice, Harry?" Rose asked in a falsely bright voice. She was breathing hard, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

Harry approached her cautiously. "Rose. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Harry," Rose responded, though she did not sound it. "I can handle a Boggart, you know." She put a shaking hand to her eyes in an effort to discreetly wipe away her tears.

Harry felt a surge of pity, mixed with embarrassment. He knew he had trespassed on something deeply personal. Yet, he was at the center of Rose's greatest fear. He felt he ought to say something to help. "It's not . . . it's not real, of course. You know that."

"I do know that, yes," she said quickly, and a bit sharply.

"I mean, it's not . . . true. You didn't know. You couldn't have known."

He was horrified to see her face screw up against a sob; her hands made it to her face just in time. He had not said the right thing; he shouldn't have tried. Why did he always have to open his mouth-? Harry put his hand on his aunt's shoulder.

" _Tata_. I'll be right back. I'll get Sirius."

She was trying, through her tears, to say it was all right, but Harry was already descending the stairs so quickly that he didn't see Remus Lupin until they collided.

"Harry. Is everything all right?"

Harry grabbed the bannister to steady himself. "Professor Lupin. I'm sorry. I was just looking for Sirius, but-" on inspiration, "Do you have any chocolate?"

Lupin smiled and reached his hand into his breast pocket. "I always keep some on hand. Having a chocolate emergency?"

"It's not for me," Harry explained, taking the chocolate bar Lupin handed him. "Thank you. It's for Rose. She's had a bit of a run-in with that Boggart."

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "That one seems to be giving this house a lot of trouble. I'll go with you." He followed Harry up the stairs.

In the master bedroom, Rose was sitting in a green, plush chair and looking a bit more composed. She held up her hands as Harry and Lupin entered. "Really, I'm absolutely fine. Please don't fuss. Fred and George just forgot to send it away." But her eyes were red. Harry held out the chocolate, and she let out a resigned chuckle and took it. She broke off a small corner and ate it while Lupin crouched on front of her.

"Rose," he said kindly, "You should have gotten one of us to get rid of it, if you've never faced one before."

She swallowed before answering, rather scornfully. "Oh Mooney, of course I have met a Boggart before. It's just- it's changed." Her voice grew quiet. "That isn't what I saw at Beauxbatons. I- I wanted to know what it would say." She looked at Lupin with a touch of defiance and sniffed.

"Oh, Rosey," Lupin said leaning forward and putting his arms around her. " _You never let them talk to you!_ Why on earth would you let it speak before you did the charm?" His voice, though gentle, contained mild remonstrance.

Rose's voice on Lupin's shoulder was muffled. "It was Lily's voice, Remus. I haven't heard it since-" and her voice choked into silence. There was the sound of her loud swallowing. Harry started to leave the room, but Rose jerked up.

"Harry. Wait just a moment." She stood and embraced him. Cautiously, Harry returned the embrace. "Thank you for the chocolate," she said, squeezing his shoulder before releasing him. She stepped back then, smiling at him ruefully.

"D'you know," she said, "I'd always wanted a little brother. I had older sisters enough, and my parents being as old as they were, I knew I wasn't likely to have any younger siblings. But I always wanted to have. One grows tired of always being the baby. When you were born, I said to myself, 'At last! I have an ally. I'm not the baby anymore!' I felt like you were on my side; I used to sit with you on Lily's great oval rug when you were learning to roll over and tell you everything I was thinking. You seemed to listen so _hard_. We were great friends. Harry, I always wanted to travel the world, but to have you back? That is the world to me. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded, looking at the floor. He felt an uncomfortable feeling in his chest that he was fairly sure was not indigestion. When he looked back at her, though, he grinned. "Well, for a sister, you've got lousy aim with a sofa cushion."

Her eyes narrowed then and he suddenly felt his glasses lifting off his face. They zoomed in a circle around the ceiling of the master bedroom before flying out of the room. "Hey!"

"Better catch them, Harry!" Rose said, shrugging, her wand hand making small movements.

"You want to watch yourself, Rose," said, shaking his head and dashing out of the room in pursuit of his dancing glasses.

* * *

Severus Snape was the first to lower his wand when Arthur Weasley had come into the room. Sirius, whose blood all seemed to have been summoned to his face, was still gripping his wand and, for several seconds, he still looked quite capable of firing a hex at Snape. But Rose reached a hand out to touch his back, with the lightest touch she could manage and still be felt through Sirius' velvet robe. Reluctantly, and with a growl, he lowered his wand. She had remained silent through their increasingly heated conversation, though she had gotten to her feet swiftly when Sirius had raised his wand.

Now Snape was saying, "Six o'clock Monday evening, Potter," with a look at Harry that was so full of menace that it made Rose's nostrils flare. She politely excused herself from the room and managed to catch Snape before he had Disapparated from the front stoop.

A cold rain was falling outside; the overhang sheltered Snape, and Rose lifted her wand and murmured a quick Umbrella spell over herself. Then she turned to Snape. "Will it protect him?" she asked quietly.

"The headmaster seems to think so," he answered. His voice was cold, though his eyes glittered.

"But _you_ are teaching him. You are the expert whom Dumbledore trusts to teach Harry Occlumency. So, is it _your_ judgment that Occlumency will protect him from these intrusions upon his mind?" she spoke in a low voice, but she could feel the words bite as they left her mouth.

"I am no more expert than the Headmaster. As I say, the Headmaster must delegate some tasks-"

" _Foutaise_." Rose shook her head impatiently. "He has given you this task for a reason, and it is because you are superb at Occlumency. You have to be, or you would not have survived your work among the Death Eaters to this point. So I ask again: will it protect him?"

Snape went silent for a moment while he regarded her through narrowed eyes. "It depends," he responded at last. "If he applies himself, actually shows willingness to _learn_ , then- perhaps. The Dark Lord may then be less likely to stray unawares into his mind. If, as is his habit, he merely skates through expecting his arrogance itself will be enough, if he disdains to make an effort, and should the Dark Lord make an intentional effort to enter his mind, well-" Snape rolled his eyes and looked contemptuous.

"I see," Rose said coldly. "So, your plan is to convey to Harry how little you think of him and of any effort he could make, in an attempt to goad him into exerting himself? Is this your usual teaching strategy?"

"I promised the headmaster I would teach him, Miss Evans. And teach him I shall," Snape replied, and his voice had also dropped several degrees. "And if he is apt, he will learn something of value. You might tell him that, after Black has quite finished inciting him to more of the outbursts of rage to which he is so prone. Tell him that what I have to teach him would benefit more than himself. If, indeed, anyone besides Harry Potter really matters." Snape spat. He turned up his collar and glanced at her coldly. When she only gave a single nod, he stepped out to the sidewalk, apparently indifferent to the now pouring rain, and Disapparated with a flourish of flying black robes.

When Rose re-entered the house, she found Harry sitting next to Sirius, trying to look interested in Arthur Weasley's cheerful description of his last hours at St. Mungo's. She met his eye and nodded to the door. He joined her in the hall, and she put her arm around him.

"When did you get taller than me?" she asked him affectionately.

He grinned. "A project I've been working on a while. Little by little."

She smiled back, then said, "Listen. Harry. About these lessons with Severus Snape."

He looked wary, but nodded.

"They are important," she continued. "I don't care for the fact of Snape's being your teacher, but as with Potions, he will be trying to teach you something which he himself has mastered completely. If it's possible, try to look past the teacher to get at the knowledge, won't you?"

His mouth was pursed in distaste, but he nodded. "I'll try."

"And Harry," she said, catching his eye. "My office is down the hall from Snape's office. And my door will be open. All right?"

His face relaxed a bit. Then, he affected a grandiose sigh. "Yes, _Tata_."


	20. Third Flower Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Hispidity

 **A.N. Dates for this chapter, for those that wanted them: section 1, January 8, 1996; sections 2 & 3, January 10, 1996; section 4, February 16, 1996.**

True to her promise, Rose kept her office door propped wide open on the night of Harry's first Occlumency lesson. She sat at her desk, marking the Hufflepuff and Slytherin homeworks she had collected that day, taking occasional breaks to gaze alternately at the green water outside her window or at the dark hallway. Just before six, she heard footsteps in the hall. A moment later, Harry was stopping at her open door. He glanced inside at her, apprehension on his face.

Rose raised her fingers from the desk in greeting. "You're nearly late," she told him. "Come and see me after, why don't you?" He nodded once and continued toward Snape's office. Rose returned to her marking.

An hour passed. Rose finished marking the beginner level homeworks and changed into her dressing gown and slippers before moving on to the intermediate class. Her radio was droning away; WWN played jazz in the evenings. The second hour was winding down and she was beginning to think about making herself some cocoa when Harry's form again appeared in her doorway.

He looked as if he'd been in a low-impact fistfight. His shirt had come untucked, his trousers were disheveled, his hair was mussed and there were reddish blotches on his face and elbows. His face looked as if he'd somehow managed to stay up all night in two hours' time. When she beckoned, he came in and stood dazedly in the middle of the room while she shut the door. Rose put a hand on each of Harry's shoulders and guided him to the largest armchair in the room, where he sat without speaking while she put her white chenille blanket in his lap and warmed the teapot with a tap of her wand.

Harry didn't touch his tea. For a few minutes, he sat silently on her armchair and just stared. Not for the first time, Rose struggled against the impulse to hug him. She had settled herself on a hair opposite him, away from the tea table. After pretending to read the paper for several minutes, she finally ventured, "Sickle for your thoughts?"

"Do they say that in France?" Harry asked, his eyes returning to the present. "Here we say, 'a knut.'"

Rose shook her head. "Oh, I know. But your thoughts are worth more than a knut. What's on your mind?"

He rubbed at one of his elbows absently for a moment before abruptly turning his eyes to hers. "What's in the Department of Mysteries?"

Rose drew in a sudden breath. "Only a few things that I know about, Harry." Her mind was transported to her last late night duty in the Hall of Prophecy and the row upon row of eerie orbs with the mist that moved inside them, casting slow-moving reverse shadows upon the wall.

"It's something important," Harry told her. "I know it is. Voldemort's been thinking about it for months, but I've only just realized it. The weapon. The one Sirius mentioned. It's got to be in there."

Rose felt stuck. Dumbledore's face seemed to swim before her eyes, looking at her with a warning expression. But in front of her, Harry's eyes were fixed on hers. Her eyes flitted to a spot on his cheekbone that would surely be a bruise tomorrow. She found herself saying, "There is . . . something there that he wants. Yes. And the Order of the Phoenix is working tirelessly to make sure that he does not get it. And that is . . . that is as much as I can tell you."

She expected him to protest, or to ask her to tell him more, but he just looked at her for a moment. Then he nodded and returned his gaze to the floor.

"How did your lesson go, then?" Rose asked gently. "Was it as bad as you thought?"

"Worse." He massaged his head. Rose noticed that he avoided touching his scar. "I did a lot of falling. Hit a desk at one point. Well, I wasn't in a position to catch myself."

Rose made a sympathetic face. "So he just kept breaking into your mind, and you had to repel him?"

"Pretty much."

"How did he tell you to repel him?"

"He didn't."

"Oh." Rose felt her anger at Snape bubble up within her again. Resolutely, she pushed it back down. It could not help her now. "So… did you get on at all?"

"I pushed him out once. But not before he'd seen…" He closed his eyes. "He just kept rummaging through my memories, like my mind was his storage closet, just flinging things around. He saw Hermione from second year, and the Dementors in third, and older stuff. The Dursleys. That dog chasing me up the tree. Stuff Dudley did to me, that I haven't told anyone about. And now he just gets to look at it all. In between calling me weak and pathetic he gets to attack my mind, over and over. Because Dumbledore says he can," Harry finished bitterly. He put his head in his hands then.

Rose gripped her knees to prevent herself from getting any closer to him, knowing from experience how quickly tears could come when anyone showed that sort of sympathy. She likewise knew that he would be mortified to cry in her office, just down the hall from Snape himself. So she just sat very still and struggled against her own rising emotion, visualising the full, round moon, distant, cold, indifferent. Her breath slowed.

Harry had not moved, but Rose stood after a minute and went to her cabinet, retrieving a bottle and two glasses. She poured out two glasses, though she put rather more wine into her own glass than the other. When she placed Harry's in front of him, he looked at it, and then at her, questioningly.

"I don't think this is an evening for tea," Rose remarked, sitting down again with her own glass. Harry's eyes were red, but there was a very small smile on his face as he picked up his glass. She held hers up. "To Dumbledore's Army."

He lifted his glass in acknowledgment of the toast, and they both drank.

After two swallows of wine, Rose said, "And now, I have a rather different lesson for you. I'm going to give you some phrases that have gotten me through some difficult times. This first one is very important. I want you to say this to yourself before your next Occlumency lesson. Repeat after me: _Te laisse pas emmerder_."

"Too lays pies ahmerday," he repeated. Then he took another sip of wine. "What's it mean?"

"Try it again first. _Te laisse pas emmerder._ "

He said it again, much closer to her pronunciation this time. When he had said it successfully three times, she nodded and said, "Good."

"But what's it mean?"

She leaned forward and put her hands on his arms. "It means, 'don't take any shit.'"

Harry laughed, sitting back in his chair. Rose saw with satisfaction that some of the color was returning to his face. She sat back and smiled. "Now. Let's try another one."

* * *

Rose usually went to breakfast in the Great Hall as early as she could manage. She preferred to be in her classroom for at least an hour before her first class entered at nine o'clock, and anyway she found the morning quiet soothing. She was rather bleary entering the Great Hall on that particular January Wednesday, so she did not see the new notice which had been nailed at the entrance next to the other Educational Decrees. But on her way out of breakfast, with two cups of coffee humming in her veins, she chanced to turn her head and notice Professors Flitwick and Sprout standing in front of the notice board. Their expressions of consternation and disgust were becoming familiar to her, and she joined them in gazing at the new notice with a growing heaviness in her stomach.

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts

 **Teacher are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.**

 _The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six._

Signed:

 **Dolores Jane Umbridge**

HIGH INQUISITOR

The heaviness in Rose's stomach condensed into a hard, contracted ball. Previous educational decrees, as disturbing as they had been, had not given her such as sense of creeping dread. Before this, the sense of being censored, almost silenced by Umbridge's regime at the school had been subtle; understood, but never overtly stated. This was a clear gag order. And now, not only would the students have to see disturbing stories in the news and hear even more frightening rumors from one another, the teachers would now be forbidden to offer them any kind of guidance or help. It was unendurable, Rose thought. On the very day following the news that ten of Voldemort's most fearsome Death Eaters were at large, students must now be expected to live in this new reality, cut off from adult help.

Her hands had balled into fists as she stood, silent, before the notice. Flitwick and Sprout had left, muttering to one another in confidence, but Rose stood for several minutes, her mind racing. _This is disgraceful_ , she thought. _The British Ministry of Magic. British. Not Iranian, Not North Korean, not Serbian. The_ British _Ministry of Magic is doing this._

Her mind roved over the regimes which she had known to behave this way. She knew there were topics in North Korea which Wizards were not allowed to allude to in any way or risk arrest. The Boer Academy of Magic, for many years, had not allowed study of non-European magical techniques, or any reference to African witchcraft in any way which acknowledged its power. The Magical Parliament of Iran punished harshly those wizards who publicly criticized its leadership. Always these places had seemed distant. Unfortunate, of course, deplorable in their abuses, but far away. Rose had always felt safe in the privilege of French and British citizenship, in diplomatic immunity, safe in the company of experienced ambassadors. Now she stood in one such regime, here at Hogwarts, at Lily's School. _What would Lily say? What would Lily_ do?

Thoughts of her sister's reaction to the state of things at Hogwarts had made Rose's chin rise without her awareness. She remembered hearing, as a child, that Lily had been to a protest, Lily had been to a demonstration, to a rally. She recalled the sloganed pins and tee shirts her sister had worn, and her return one day to her parents' house along with James, hoarse and exhausted from a day of chanting at the Ministry of Magic. _Lil wouldn't stand for it,_ Rose thought. _And neither should I._

But in what way could she dissent? Merely disobeying the Educational Decree, while satisfying, would likely get her removed from Hogwarts. Perhaps even arrested; who knew the state of the law under Cornelius Fudge? And what good would it do? Arrested, she would be less useful the Order of the Phoenix. _And to Harry_. _I need to stay at Hogwarts for Harry_. And that last declaration she knew with a certainty that she'd lacked before. But what could she do?

More and more students were filtering into the Great Hall, some in earnest discussion (perhaps of the Educational Decree?) and others simply bleary, wearing hangdog, morning expressions. Students she was no longer allowed to help, to support, to talk to about anything other than International Magical Issues… and with this thought came the beginning of an idea. Rose lingered only a moment longer to think on it before coming out of her trance and turning briskly toward the stairs. In her abstraction, she very nearly walked into Ron Weasley.

"Oh dear! Pardon me, Mr. Weasley! Good morning, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter."

"Good morning, Professor," Hermione responded, smiling amiably at her. Ron had gone a little pink but he managed a smile and a nod, too. Rose looked around quickly and, seeing no one, brought her face close to Harry's.

"Next time you come and have tea with me, bring them, won't you?" He nodded and gave a swift smile. She stepped back hastily just as a crowd of students came down the staircase. The rest of Gryffindor Tower seemed to be emptying. Nodding in acknowledgment, she began to walk away but then stopped and adopted her giddy, French-littered manner of speaking.

"'Ave a good morning, _chers étudiants! Te laisse pas emmerder!_ " she chirped. She heard Harry snort as she passed into the staircase.

* * *

Rose strode among her first hour class, observing their practice at Translation Spells. Each student, having been given a parchment with a sentence written upon it in a foreign language, was attempting the incantation that would translate the text into English. The first student to successfully translate his or her sentence, they knew, would receive the sugar quill which now floated over Rose's desk. Still, they all needed to master the spell, as Rose had promised it would be assessed in their next examination.

Katie Bell was muttering doggedly over her parchment, but her wand movements were too broad and rather clumsy. It was hard to concentrate on both the incantation and the movements, Rose knew, for both were complex and required precision. She was gently correcting Katie's movement with her hand when Rose saw Hermione's hand shoot up out of the corner of her eye. She smiled. It had taken longer than she'd expected, but there it was.

Nearly every student had accomplished the Translation Spell when Rose finally called the class to a halt. Twenty minutes remained in the class; she knew the students were expecting to be allowed to continue until the bell rang. But she was firm in her request for silence, so they all looked at her expectantly, Hermione absently sucking the sugar quill she'd earned.

"Class, I want to speak with you now to introduce our next unit. You should continue to practice the incantation for the Translation Spell, of course. I will be holding office hours-" gesturing to the board behind her, "from 7 until 9 on Thursday night if you would like any assistance." She had checked her coin; the next D.A. meeting was scheduled for January 13th, which was a Friday. She waited while several students jotted this information down, then returned their gazes to her.

"We will be beginning a new unit next class, for which I wish you to prepare by reading chapter twenty-one in the Campbell book. Yes, Miss Patil, I know. We left off on chapter sixteen. Nonetheless, please read chapter twenty-one, entitled 'Unrest, Protest, and Redress' for next class." Again, she paused while students copied down their homework assignment. Then she began again.

"Class, we have studied many international cultures and governing bodies, and in general we have focused on that which is orderly, harmonious, and distinguished among them. But we know from history that it is not always so with many nations. Governments are not always just, and their affairs are not always conducted with transparency and integrity. Societies have often oppressed certain citizen groups, both among Muggles and among Wizards.

"For just one example. You all know, or should know, that South Africa was colonized by Dutch and English Muggle powers, hundreds of years ago. With Muggle colonizers came Wizarding ones, however. Many of the Boer settlers in South Africa were Wizards who wished to find space for themselves to practice magic at a greater distance from Muggle eyes. Or, depending on your outlook, in order to further extend their power over colonized Wizards. In any case, they founded the Boer Academy of Magic in 1719 outside of Cape Town. Only European-descended wizards and witches were allowed to attend the Academy. Perhaps you remember a major difference in the way that European and African Wizards do magic? Lee?"

For Lee's hand had lifted off the desk in response to her question. "African Wizards often don't use wands, Professor."

"Correct, Lee. There are many cultural differences between African and European wizards, but wand use is both at the center of, and, often, is a symbol for these differences. At the Boer Academy, only European-descended wizards were admitted until 1965. And even then, wand use was mandatory, and all spells and techniques studied were European. Classes were taught in Afrikaans only. South African Wizarding society held graduates of the Boer Academy in high esteem, and they had privileges in society which wizards and witches who did not attend the school were denied. They had access to the best jobs, the most influential positions. At the South African Ministry, only those with wands were granted entry. Offending criminals without wands could not even be tried in court; they were often subject to cruder forms of justice. Or they went on the run. Those who held wands, mostly European descended witches and wizards, were not permitted to marry or even fraternize with wandless African witches and wizards.

"But those who have been to South Africa know that it has changed enormously in the past decide. The old Boer Academy is now the South African Academy, and African witches and wizards, both wand-using and non-wand-using alike, study there. Formerly, African-descended students had largely attended Uagadou, though it is a great distance to Uganda from Cape Town. The wandless and the wand-holders may now legally marry, and wandless magic is taught alongside wand magic at the Academy.

"However, these changes did not come about through good luck and wishing. These changes were accomplished as so many of the best changes are, through the patient and courageous efforts of protesting citizens. And at the heart of the protest movement in Wizarding South Africa? Students." Now at the front of the room again, Rose looked down into Hermione's dark eyes, which had a fervent, fiery look. Rose continued to walk as she spoke again.

"Student activism changes the world, all over the world, in both Wizarding and Muggle society. Students know enough to know the world should be better than it is, and they don't yet know enough to accept it as it is. Students have a remarkable ability to challenge what is, in the hope of what could be. They don't yet know that it is hopeless to try to change the world, and so they do it."

With this last phrase, Rose brought her hand down firmly onto Roger Davies' desk. It was for emphasis and not to wake him, as it had been last week, for at that moment every student was hanging on her words. Rose suspected they had all been discussing Educational Decree Number Twenty-Six over breakfast, for they were all looking very serious. Fred nudged George. All the others were still. Rose looked at them for a moment, wishing she could send them courage through the air. She tried to do it with her gaze.

Then she cleared her throat and continued her walk between their desks. "Now. Your textbook chapter covers three such examples of student movements, in Serbia, in South Africa, and in Eastern Europe, under Grindelwald's regime. On Friday, I will provide you with a reading detailing the history of student activism in America, which protests anti-Muggle legislation and attitudes in that country. The essay which will be due in one week's time-" and she paused for the inevitable groans. None came, so she continued, "That essay will be an exploration of the question, what makes an effective protest? I want you to do your readings, and participate in the discussion we will have on Friday, with that question in mind. Acts of protest that make change, that upend oppressive regimes and reverse unjust policies, they have something in common. Identifying those commonalities will be our task in the next week.

"In the meantime, I want you to notice that whenever students engage in protest or other forms of activism, they do so with an eye to the consequences. It would be unwise for a student to engage in civil disobedience, for example, if he or she had not fully considered the possible consequences, and decided that, in their mind, the risks of remaining silent outweighed the risks of participating. This is a judgment all who protest injustice must make, for there are very real risks to such activities. And that is why we ask again, _what makes a protest movement effective_? Please consider this question, students, as if it were a question of immediate importance."

She looked her intensity into their eyes, and then smiled warmly. "Which it is, as the essay due next Wednesday will be graded."

The bell rang.

Her first hour class was unusually quiet as they left that morning. Here and there, students smiled at her, or greeted her, or merely nodded in acknowledgment. Rose watched the last one leave, and she found herself half-raising a hand after them, as if in blessing. Just as she turned to stack up her papers, she heard a voice at the door. "Professor Evans?"

It was Hermione. At Rose's encouraging nod, she entered the room and shut the door behind her. "I just had a question. I'm working on something, something that involves Harry. It's, well, it's a form of protest, or civil disobedience, I suppose. I just wanted to know: how do you know when people are ready to listen? I mean, when are people ready to resist a powerful authority that's telling them, you know, what to think and believe?"

Rose considered. She did not particularly like to think of either Harry or Hermione adding another dimension of risk to their lives. But as she looked at Hermione's sharp-eyed face, tilted expectantly, Rose felt that if she could trust anyone to protest effectively and risk no more than was necessary, it was this young woman.

She drew close to Hermione as she answered, slowly. " _Chère_ , I think this will happen when people have found that the explanations the powerful authority is offering no longer explain their suffering. When people are afraid, they are either ready to redouble their trust in an oppressive leader, or to withdraw it. If the leader can provide protection from the threat, well, so. But if the leader's ability to explain or prevent the source of their suffering is diminishing, then, I think you will find that people are ready to hear from another source."

Hermione listened intently to all of this. When Rose finished, she nodded decisively. "Thank you, Professor. That was what I wanted to know."

"I'm glad I could help."

And with a smile and a swish of her unruly hair, Hermione hurried out of the room.

* * *

"I don't know anything more about it, Paddy. Harry wouldn't thank me to follow him on his date, and on St. Valentine's Day, Madam Puddifoot's is simply overrun with teenage couples. All I know is, when I saw him in the morning on the way to Hogsmeade, he was hand-in-hand with Miss Chang, and when I saw him at The Three Broomsticks at mid-day, she was nowhere to be seen. I haven't seen them anywhere near each other since. It cannot have gone well."

Sirius clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Shame. I should have given him some pointers while he was here over Christmas. Who has he got to give him girl advice now? Ron Weasley?" Sirius snorted, and then pointed his wand at a cigarette. The end of it kindled, and he took an appreciative drag.

"He's got Hermione Granger, of course. And me. Though I don't think he's interested in discussing that sort of thing up with me. He'd probably combust. Do open a window if you're going to smoke, Paddy," Rose admonished. They had only just finished dinner.

" _Absolument, ma reine_ ,"1 he replied, sauntering over to the window and opening it by hand. Rose noticed that Sirius often did tasks by hand which he might have done by magic. She suspected he wanted excuses to excise some of the physical energy with which he was always humming. "He could use a man's advice, though," Sirius continued, pacing around the room and making a trail of smoke. "I should offer. I'll drop him a letter, with you."

"Oh, don't put any advice in it. He'll know we've been talking about him, and he'll hate it. Besides, I rather think Hermione is as qualified to advise Harry as anyone else. That girl is a genius."

"No arguments here," said Sirius, shaking his head. "Mooney says she's the brightest witch of her age he's met, and he ought to know. But you know, in matters such as these, a boy needs a man to advise him."

"Oh? And who advised _you_ , then?"

"No one. And look at me! I'm a disaster."

"Oh, _merci_ , how flattering. I am participating in a disaster, am I?" Rose arched an eyebrow at Sirius from across the room.

He turned and exhaled a mouthful of smoke away from her before answering. "Rosey, you are in my life through the baffling intricacies of fate, through the undeserved favor of an unknown deity. I can't explain it. Perhaps _you_ could try-?" He had arrived in front of her now and was kneeling beside the sofa, smiling libidinously.

"I will spend the next several years explaining it to you, please Merlin," she answered, leaning forward and kissing him with a kiss which began simply enough, but which ended with both of them entwined upon the sofa, parting only to catch their breath, laughing softly.

"Anyway, _cher_ ," Rose said, sitting up straight and switching to French, "I haven't told you the really good part. As I looked across The Three Broomsticks, from my table among various staff members, who should I see sitting across from Hermione Granger but the pitiable husk of Rita Skeeter, former reporter for _The Daily Prophet_! I was so astonished I nearly made myself conspicuous in staring at them. I had to look hard beneath the layers of hard times I could see in her hair and clothing, but I assure you, it was she." Rose greatly appreciated having someone in her life to whom she could speak French. Her mouth missed the feel of French, lately, as her body missed warmth in that dour British February.

"What does she want with Harry? Please tell me you hexed that wretched cow," Sirius growled, while wrapping an escaped lock of Rose's hair around his finger.

"You know, I refrained, only because of the look on Hermione's face. It was a look of grim smugness, that one rejoices to see on such a girl. For any observer, there was no missing that Hermione was in complete control of the situation. The little blonde Ravenclaw, Miss Lovegood, was there too, though she was half in a daydream throughout the conversation. I had to leave before they left. The staff were returning; it would have looked odd for me to stay. But when I left, Harry was talking determinedly at Madame Skeeter, who was _taking notes_. And if this doesn't add up to some sort of published release in some newspaper, I am a cabbage."

"You are _my_ cabbage," Sirius said playfully, still in French. Rose took his cigarette from him before he could take another drag of it and put it out against her boot. He pouted, but she only laughed at him and slid herself onto his lap.

"Watch for it," she advised him. "Hermione is up to something; I know this for a fact. She confides in me sometimes. She has been planning something for some time now, and whatever the result of Harry's conversation with the poisonous Ms. Skeeter, it will be a blow against the Ministry. Certain to result in several more Educational Decrees, at the very least. I am beside myself with anticipation."

"I am beside myself with pride in my godson," said Sirius. "And you know, I think Miss Granger has undergone a great personal evolution. I used to think her hopelessly straightlaced, though very intelligent, of course," he added quickly, at Rose's scowl. "But as I understand it, she was the mastermind behind Dumbledore's Army. She convinced that self-effacing godson of mine to lead it. And now she brings an evil-minded journalist to heel to undermine the Ministry of Magic? My respect for Hermione Granger grows by the day."

"As it should," Rose nodded in satisfaction.

"How goes Harry's Occlumency lessons?" Sirius asked, wrapping his arms around her and pulling closer to him. "Is Snape being decent to him, or do I have to bring Snuffles to Hogwarts to give Snivellus a savage bite on his slimy arse ?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "I beg you will let me handle the situation, Paddy, and not resort to any such measures."

She hesitated to answer, though, because from what she could tell, Harry's lessons had become no less cruel, nor any more effective, than that first lesson had been over a month before. He would stop in to see her after each Occlumency lesson with the same slump in his shoulders. She would prod at him to discuss it with her, but each time he was less willing to talk. More and more, he simply sat and stared moodily at her fire, sometimes drinking a small glass of wine as he did so. On the last lesson that past week, Rose had finally given in to her impulse to hug him. He didn't seem to mind, but it didn't seem to improve his mood either.

"Harry is . . . coping." She began, but she was spared the need to offer any further description. At that moment a _SNAP!_ came from the drawing room fire, indicating that someone was about to Floo.

Rose leapt off of Sirius' lap and quickly smoothed her dress before the bald head of Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in the flames. His silk cap had been bumped off-kilter when he stuck his head into the fire; his hand appeared quickly to doff it from his head.

"Miss Rose Evans. Mr. Black," Kingsley acknowledged in his deep, sonorous voice.

" _Bon soir,_ Kingsley," Sirius answered. "What news on the Rialto?"

"Italy continues to be untroubled by Death Eater activity," said Kingsley dryly, looking at Sirius with a very faint smile. "But England is another matter."

"It's an expression," Sirius muttered, but Kingsley ignored him.

"Miss Evans," Kingsley said, looking at Rose now, "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave the comfort of Mr. Black's home for another mission. Can you be ready quite soon?"

"Certainly, Kingsley," said Rose, keeping her regret from showing on her face with difficulty. The temperature alone made outdoor activity deeply unattractive. "What is the mission?"

"We have received intelligence of a gathering of Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor," he explained. "Our hope is to surprise some of them after the meeting has concluded. This may- _may_ , I say- be an another opportunity to apprehend Peter Pettigrew. Among others. We will stake out at the Apparition point at Malfoy Manor once the meeting is underway. Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Bill Weasley and I will arrive at Headquarters within the hour; we depart for Wiltshire at 8 o'clock. I don't think I need to say to dress warmly. Do you have any questions?"

Rose answered, "No, Kingsley, you have explained things quite well. We will see you when you arrive."

With a polite nod of acknowledgment to each of them, Kingsley's head disappeared from the fire with a crack.

There was a moment of silence as Rose and Sirius looked at one another. Then Rose spoke, with narrowing eyes and warning in her voice.

"You are _not_ coming with us, Sirius."

1 "Absolutely, my Queen."


	21. Third Flower Chapter 22

Third Flower Chapter 22: Toxicity

 **A.N. Rose only curses in French.**

 **Date: February 16, and the wee hours of February 17, 1996.**

 **Those who complained about untranslated French should notice the footnotes at the end of each chapter, now. I hope this is helpful.**

The night was very cold, colder even than usual for Wiltshire in mid-February. The sliver of a moon shone only faintly from behind a cloud, next to which the stars glimmered and quivered as if they too were uncomfortably cold. Rose exhaled softly onto her hands to warm them. Tonks heard her, and turned around. They were under strict orders from Mad-Eye to stay silent now that it was past ten o'clock, so Tonks said nothing, but gestured for Rose to hold out her hands. Rose did so, and Tonks waved her wand over them. Immediately, a warm, dry wind like that from a washroom hand-dryer flowed over her hands and wrists. Rose flexed her fingers in relief as the warmth spread up her arms. "Thank you," she breathed almost soundlessly. Tonks just smiled cheerfully, then turned back around to face the gate of Malfoy Manor. Rose could see little of the gate. She put her back against the hedge along which they were all standing, looking up instead into the starry sky. She sighed.

Sirius had not taken their departure well. "We're all just as likely to meet a bad end at Malfoy Manor," he argued. "Death Eaters aren't going to turn me over to the Ministry if they catch me. They'll just murder me, the same as they'll do to any of you." His eyes had fallen on Rose briefly after he said this.

"We're all vulnerable if you're captured, Pads," Lupin had told him. Rose noticed that he did not say, "killed." "They'll sack headquarters. There will be nowhere for us to return to with any safety."

"Besides, I wouldn't put it past Lucius Malfoy to capture you and turn you in for the reward money. And to buy himself favor with the Ministry," Moody put in.

Sirius looked at Rose again and his gaze lingered. She felt him silently asking her to take his side. But she shook her head determinedly, her stomach sinking even as she did so, and said firmly, "Stay, Paddy."

Now as she looked into the sky outside Malfoy Manor, her eyes following Orion's belt and sweeping to Canis, she perceived Lupin's eyes on her. She glanced at him, and though he could not see her expression, she knew he sensed her disquiet, because he leaned in and whispered close to her ear, "He'll get over it, Rose." She smiled at him gratefully, and then sighed and looked back at the gate. They expected the Death Eaters to emerge at any moment, though they could not know when exactly the gathering would conclude. Rose itched for the moment to arrive, even as her stomach was tense with anticipating it. She was sure that whatever followed the Death Eaters' arrival, it could not be more arduous than the wait.

The plan, as Moody had laid it out, was simple. They had set up an anti-Disapparition Jinx surrounding the usual Apparition point. The Apparition point at Malfoy Manor, Kingsley and Moody had discovered, was a circle around six feet in diameter just outside the gates. It existed for the convenience of the family; one could not apparate to any other point on the grounds inside of the woods, which were a dark blur around a quarter mile away from the gate. When Death Eaters exited the gate from the Manor, they would be outside the protective enchantments which kept spells from entering the park in front of the great house. "It keeps spells out," Moody had warned in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place, "but it won't stop spells from inside hitting us. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

All the Order members who now lined the edge of the hedge were Disillusioned, but at close range, if they moved quickly, they knew a practiced eye could detect them. "So we hope they don't all come at once," Moody had said, "Or we'll have a hell of a time of deciding whether to stun them before they can disapparate, or hold our fire so the ones inside the gate don't see us." That decision, it was understood, would be one they'd have to make in the moment.

The minutes of silence had become an hour, and then two. Rose ached to be doing something, which made her think of Sirius. He would be pacing the faded rug now, his jaw tense, his grey eyes stormy. _He is probably smoking,_ she thought, part ruefully and part fondly. Every so often,Tonks would turn around and show her a metamorphosed face, which amused Rose when it ceased to startle her. Tonks had done her warming spell several more times on Rose's aching hands before they at least heard the noises they had been waiting for. Low, rough voices could be heard from the path that led to the gate.

The first Death Eater to come through the gate was alone. He wore his mask over his face, as though he'd expected someone would see him, and it would have been comical to watch him try fruitlessly to turn on the spot if the tension hadn't been so palpable. Rose watched him from over Tonks' shoulder; she saw Moody give her a nod after a few moments passed without the sounds of other Death Eaters approaching. Tonks drew her wand and silently stunned the man before he could complete his third attempt at Disappartion.

Moody was cautiously stepping toward his fallen body when two squat Death Eaters, a man and a woman, tramped out of the gate to join him. After one look at their fallen colleague, the two immediately assumed aggressive poses and fired spells in opposite directions. The man's spell was fired in the direction of the woods, but the woman's would have hit Moody had he not produced a Shield Charm which prevented it.

"Over 'ere, 'Lecto," the squat man said in excitement, just as Tonks hit him with a silent Stunning spell. He toppled to the ground. Alecto had lifted her wand before he hit the ground. " _Avar-"_ she began, but Bill had stepped around the Shield Charm's boundary and stunned her. She, too, fell to the ground.

Now they could hear shouts from within the gate. Several spells came from inside the gate, but the Order members had returned to their positions, flat against the hedges, so that they could not be seen. Rose could hear agitated voices just on the other side of the gate.

"It's that Order of the Phoenix out there," one growled.

"Could be the Ministry," pointed out another, slower sounding voice.

"Doesn't matter!" spat a third. "Question is, should we tell Lucius? Or- him?"

"The Dark Lord should not be troubled with trivial facts such as these," drawled a voice which Rose had no trouble recognizing as Severus' Snape's. "A few blood traitors and mudbloods firing Stunning Spells should not concern you either, Nott."

"Yes, Nott, you can go ahead and tell Lucius that you're afraid to step out of his gates. I'm sure he'll offer you a guest bed," the first voice jeered.

"What's going on?" a new voice sounded from further down the path. The other three filled him in. Several more joined until it sounded as if a knot of six or seven Death Eaters were now poised at the edge of the protective enchantments. Kingsley and Moody had not moved. Tonks twiddled her wand in her hand idly as they argued in what they plainly thought were undertones. She perked up, though, when the sly voiced Death Eater said loudly,

"Ah, Wormtail. We are discussing the plan concerning the Department of Mysteries. You you will have nothing to do with that, of course. You go ahead to the Apparition point."

Rose's spine straightened as the squeaky voice she recognized as belonging to Peter Pettigrew stammered, "Y-yes. Well, g-goodnight, then." And suddenly he was emerging on the outside of the gate.

Rose could not stand to wait. She stepped forward and silently cast a disarming charm on Peter. She wanted him conscious this time.

Kingsley stepped forward, seized Peter's startled frame, and returned with him to his side of the gate. Rose strode forward, no longer caring about the need to stay silent, no longer thinking about any part of the plan other than this. "He's mine," she hissed, and held her wand to Peter's shaking throat. "Hello, Peter," she whispered, with as much menace as she could muster.

She saw him grimace and she quickly brought her face close in to his. "If you transform, I will kill you on the spot. Don't think I won't." He made a high pitched noise in his throat. "But if you don't, I'll take you to testify. You will be alive and unharmed. So which do you choose? Do we bury you here on the grounds? Or are you coming with me?"

Pettigrew said nothing, but nodded slowly, his eyes huge. Kingsley looked at Rose, who nodded, and released him. Rose kept her wand pointed directly between Pettigrew's eyes, her eyes refusing to leave his, and backed him up against the hedge.

Suddenly there was a shout and the sound of bodies crashing onto the grounds from the gate. The Death Eaters inside the gate, perhaps hoping that Peter's appearance would provide a sufficient destruction, had apparently decided their best course of action would be to simply barrel through the gate in a blitz. With the Death Eaters' charge, Rose's awareness of the needs of the mission and her friends returned to her mind with force. Her stomach clenched; she held the wand firmly to Peter's face and still did not take her eyes from him, but all around her she heard the sounds of her friends' efforts and conflict. She knew she was terribly vulnerable as she was, and in another moment she knew it forcefully as Kingsley's body landed on her.

Rose changed her wand to her left hand and grabbed at Kingsley with her right. She could not hope to hold him up, but she felt a pulse beating strongly in his neck as he slid slowly against her faltering body. Awkwardly, she allowed to allow him to continue his slow sag onto the ground. Peter's eyes were wildly moving, looking for an opportunity. Rose moved her wand closer to his face.

"Let's go!" the deep-voiced Death Eater's voice rang out. There was the sound of running feet; Rose could feel the breeze from the disillusioned bodies of the Order members who were closest to her as they took off running. Tonks' voice called, "I'm going, Remus!"

Two pairs of dueling wizards remained; Rose could hear Moody's uneven gait behind her as he traded spells with his Death Eater. "I'm here, Rosey," Lupin called, between defensive spells against the sly-voiced Death eater to her left. Just then, something collided with Rose's knees, and in her startlement she look her eyes off Peter to behold a hissing, thrashing white peacock. She looked back at Peter to find him recovering his wand from Kingsley's unconscious form. " _Stupify!"_ she cried, but he dodged her spell and aimed his wand at her. The full moon flashed before her mind

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ But she had parried with a Shield Charm.

" _Incarcerous!_ " But he dodged the spell.

Back and forth they went, while white peacocks hurtled around like shrieking ghosts at their knees.

Lupin's opponent shouted, " _Protego_ ," and took off running. Another peacock knocked into Rose with such force that she skidded and fell to the ground before she could see if Lupin had followed. She got to her feet quickly to find that Peter had disappeared. When she turned, she nearly collided with him.

His arm was around her neck in a moment. She retained a tight grip on her own wand, but she could feel his wand at her temple and knew she did not have time to act.

"Drop your wands!" he shouted, in a voice that still shook with agitation, "Or she dies!"

Rose heard the sounds of wands hitting the ground. She could see Lupin's outline, shimmery and transparent as it was, lifting its hands into the air. She shot Peter a look of supreme loathing which she knew neither he nor anyone else could see. But before Peter could move to collect the fallen wands, he was doubled over and squealing in pain and Rose was suddenly released.

She looked down to see an enormous, snarling, shaggy, black dog pulling Peter away from them by his ankle. They were moving surprisingly fast, considering Peter's earnest efforts to escape.

Rose was about to follow them when she heard a noise behind her. The stunning spell hit Moody before she could turn around to see Lucius Malfoy standing just inside the gate. Remus, who had recovered his wand after the dog's arrival, threw up a Shield Charm while Rose used a levitation charm to move Moody's body away from the gap in hedges. Then, without consulting each other, they both dashed after the dog.

The dog had dragged Peter a good hundred yards by now. They were gaining on him fast, panting and gasping, when a voice rang out from the direction of the woods.

" _Stupify!"_

The spell missed Rose, but she wheeled around to find the source. The dark-haired Death Eater had pulled his mask down over his face again and had come out of the woods with his lit wand raised high. Rose, who was still Disillusioned, felt her advantage over her opponent and sent a Stunning Spell back at him. He parried, and soon the two were locked in conflict, though around fifty yards separated her. Lupin had reached the dog by now, but both stopped to watch Rose.

The gap between Rose and the Death Eater closed slowly as both of them advanced upon one another, firing spells rapidly. Rose felt increasingly exhilarated, dueling under the starry sky, though the part of her mind which was not completely engaged in the duel felt how odd this was. The Death Eater seemed to move in slow motion; she found she knew intuitively when he would strike, and she even seemed to anticipate which spell he would use. There was a pattern: disarm, body-bind, stun, stun, stun. They moved as in a dance, and suddenly Rose had the advantage.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ The Death Eater's wand flew toward her and fell at her feet. She stooped to pick it up, but they were now so close that he was upon her before she could straighten up. The full weight of the Death Eater landed on her and she cried out in pain. But in seconds, the snarling dog was dragging the man off of her. She struggled to her feet and looked up just in time to see an an extraordinary sight: Peter Pettigrew was rapidly shrinking. His features warped, whiskers shooting out of his face, and in a moment he was gone. Lupin lay inert on the ground.

Rose's back was painful, but she forced herself to run to Lupin's side. " _Ennervate."_ His eyes opened, blearily at first, but she saw memory come back into his expression in a rush. Lupin jumped to his feet and took off after Sirius, who was finding the dark-haired Death Eater much more difficult to drag than Peter.

In a moment, it was over; the man was Stunned, and Sirius was bounding over the grass, nose to the ground, snapping here and there as he went.

"We need to get Mad-Eye and Kingsley," Remus said, though he stopped a moment to watch Sirius' hunt with his jaw clenched. " _Putain!1"_ Rose swore, kicking dirt in frustration, " _Quelle merdier!_ "2 She then ran in a wide arc back toward the spot where the their two comrades lay. Lucius Malfoy was no longer visible at the gate. Lupin reached Mad-Eye first, and Rose went to Kingsley to revive him.

Tonks was injured. It seemed that one of the Death Eaters they were pursuing had turned and struck her with a Stinging Hex, which caused her to trip over an unearthed root. When they found her, she was cradling her swollen face with one hand and gripping her wand with the other; she had removed the Disillusionment charm herself. Bill was nowhere to be seen.

Remus instantly knelt beside Tonks, a look of tender concern on his scarred face. Rose could scarcely bestow them a glance. While Mad-Eye and Kingsley searched for Bill, she ran back to the edge of the wood. She could just make out Sirius' dark form ranging over the cropped lawn. The black dog ran like a crazed thing, nose to the ground, occasionally stopping at a scent and then raising a frustrated bark.

Rose lingered by the edge of the wood, unable to decide what to do. They could not Apparate outside of the wood until the spell wore off at midnight, and she was hesitant to leave the relative shelter of the trees. But would Sirius ever abandon his search for Peter if no one intervened? Rose could easily imagine him continuing to roam over the grounds until sunrise. He would be easy to spot, then. No, Sirius could not be allowed to stay without them, if for no other reason than that 12 Grimmauld Place would be closed to them without Sirius in the company.

She hesitated to raise her voice, in case any Death Eaters lingered on the grounds or in the woods. Still, the dog raced around the frosty grass, huffing and snorting puffs of steam as he went. After a few minutes, Remus appeared beside her. He, too, had had his Disillusionment charm lifted. "Rose? Where's Sirius?"

She just pointed. Lupin followed her finger and sighed. Then, he looked around and then said in a low voice, "I think it's worth a shout. We can't rely on him to come back here of his own accord, not when he's a dog." He raised his voice and shouted, "Padfoot! Come!"

The dog stopped where he was and looked directly at Lupin. But he only gave a heaving breath that sounded like "huh!" and resumed his hunt.

Lupin rolled his eyes. "Why don't you give it a go, Rosey," he said.

Rose raised her voice. "Paddy!" Again, the black dog stopped and looked at them. He returned his head to the ground for a moment and sniffed. "Come on, Paddy, please!" Rose cried. And the dog heaved a snuffling sigh and began to trot reluctantly toward them.

* * *

In the end, as Moody decided, the advantages of their mission outweighed the liabilities. They Apparated back to Grimmauld Place in pairs, starting with Moody and Kingsley, then Remus and Tonks, and then Bill, who gripped the hair of the scrawny Death Eater he'd captured. The man's name was Tiberius Fawley, and Bill had Stunned him soon after they'd reached the wood. Rose and Sirius, were the last to Apparate back to the steps of Grimmauld Place, Rose holding the other prize of the evening: the wand of Augustus Rookwood.

Moody was almost as satisfied with the conquest of the wand as with the capture of Fawley. "We can get a good deal of information off that wand using _Priori Incantatum_ ," he insisted. Fawley, he said, could be interrogated by Dumbledore, then released into Ministry custody to await a trial.

"I can inform the Ministry that he was found on the Knight Bus," Kingsley decided. "He can be Confunded if he refuses to go along with the story. But the Ministry won't be in the mood to take anyone wearing Death Eater robes at their word."

The swelling on Tonks' face had already begin to go down when Dumbledore arrived. He, Kingsley, Moody, and Fawley retreated into an upstairs bedroom, "For what I'm sure will be a pleasant and productive conversation," Dumbledore said. Tonks and Lupin talked comfortably in the kitchen as Tonks clamped the ice pack firmly onto her face, her ankle having been mended almost instantly. Rose took note of Lupin's arm, which rested lightly on the back of Tonks' chair, and smiled.

Sirius, however, was in no mood to be social. After providing Tonks with ice and all the guests with cold water and whiskey, he strode off, glowering, in the direction of the library. Rose looked at Tonks and Lupin. Lupin looked sympathetic; Tonks rolled her puffy eyes. "He'll have to do his storming and his raging, Rose," she observed. "Best not to get in the way. Why don't you have some firewhiskey in here till it blows over?"

"Thank you, Tonks," Rose replied, smiling as much as her own mood would allow, "but I think I'll go with him. Everyone needs someone to rage at, after all." She went to the library, though not before she had poured two glass of firewhiskey, at Tonks' insistence.

She found Sirius pacing around in the library with a lit cigarette, looking so exactly as she'd imagined him while they'd waited at the entrance to Malfoy Manor that Rose nearly smiled. All thoughts of smiling fell away when his eyes landed on her, however.

They regarded one another in silence for a moment before Sirius said, "Well, I do hope this evening makes my point for me."

"And what point is that, exactly?" Rose asked.

"That you all need me. That you all need all the help you get can on these missions. That it's a damned waste to leave an able-bodied wizard locked up at headquarters."

She shook her head. "I don't really think that's what it accomplished, Sirius."

"Oh no?" he asked icily. "I suppose you'd prefer I'd stayed nicely at home, to learn of your capture or death after the fact, would you?"

"You are so very certain that you single-handedly prevented those things, aren't you?" She flared readily. "But Sirius, the fact that you weren't captured does not justify your having come! Even I know enough about chess to know we can't sacrifice our king to save pawns!"

"Oh, so you're a pawn, are you?" He was very nearly shouting, now. "You, Remus, Tonks, you're all expendable, is that it? What kind of game do you think we're playing?"

"A game that we _must_ win," she replied. "The stakes are too high for these unnecessary heroics, Sirius! We need you here, _I_ need you here-"

"I am not a chess piece!" he shouted. "And I may be a dog but I am not your pet, Rose. I am a man. And men cannot stay locked up when the people they love are threatened. They can't."

Rose did not reply, but stood, arms folded, against a wall of books, looking at him stormily.

Sirius lowered his voice as he continued. "Besides, being a dog, I'm at an advantage in missions like this. I have surprise on my side."

"You _had_ surprise on your side," Rose clarified. "You can hardly expect to have it anymore. There's not a Death Eater out there who won't know now that you're an Animagus. And you'd better hope that Lucius Malfoy doesn't out you to Fudge, once and for all."

"Fine. You'd rather be dead, or captured. I'd have had to find that out from whoever managed to escape, that you were gone, while I'd paced at home." He kicked an end table in disgust.

"And that's another thing," Rose continued more loudly. "Why are you so sure you know what the outcome would have been? One of those _maudit paons3_ might have knocked Peter over next. Or Remus might have rushed him. Or I might have thought of a way to get out of it _myself_ , Sirius, have you ever thought of _that_?"

Unlike Sirius, she was not striding around the room, but stood still against the bookcase, arms still tightly crossed, eyes narrowed in fury. "You are not a pet, it is true. You are a man. But Sirius, I am also not a child. I was best in my year at dueling. If I can remind you, I bested Barty Crouch, Jr. last year, and I've been on several missions with the Order already. My capture was hardly a foregone conclusion."

"Well, it looked pretty damned inevitable to me. Twice over, actually," he said, with asperity. His pacing had brought him to a place only a few feet from her now. He leaned toward her, his eyes blazing.

Rose refused to move. "Don't think I don't know what this is really about," she said, staring at him defiantly.

"Oh? And what's that?" he spat.

"You're angry you let Peter get away. You want to blame me because you let him go, to save me. You didn't even wait to see if I needed saving!"

"You _did_ need saving," he insisted. "I'd like to know why you're taking Peter on as a personal challenge, anyway."

"I would have thought that would be obvious!"

His eyes darted at her quickly before he looked away and continued, "But why not let Kingsley capture him, or Mad-Eye? Now he knows you're after him, that you've got a vendetta. You don't know Peter as I do; he's very good at identifying threats. He won't venture out on his own again, that's certain. We actually have less chance at capturing him now."

Rose snorted. "Coming from the man who attempted to murder him in front of four witnesses two years ago! It's not as if he didn't already know that several of us would dearly love to capture or kill him. But mark me, at the next opportunity, on our next mission, I _will_ catch him, and I will hold him."

He shook his head and glared at her. "I'm not letting it happen again, Rose. You don't have to like it."

"Let the record show that I _don't,_ " she seethed. "I can't tell you what to do. But know that if you do this again, you're do it for _you_ , Sirius Black, and for no one else." And before he could respond, she turned and strode out of the room.

It wasn't until she was in her nightgown in the Blue Room that Rose remembered, with a twinge of regret, that she'd left her firewhiskey in the library.

* * *

Rose had only managed a few hours of restless sleep before she was awakened by a spine-chilling whine. She sat up, her heart pounding, but when she heard it again she knew instantly what it was. She padded down the hall, tieing her dressing gown as she went.

In his room, Sirius was breathing fast. He gripped the sheet convulsively in his sleep, but when he threw back his head to make the sound again, Rose interrupted him. "Paddy! Wake up! You're dreaming!"

This time when he woke with a start, making clawing motions toward her, she was not startled, but simply gazed at him sorrowfully. "Oh," he said, when he regained his senses, "Oh." He lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes a moment, taking deep breaths. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her, though with a guarded expression. "I'm sorry I woke you," he said, stiffly, in English.

"Dear heart, don't be sorry for that," Rose replied, tenderly, in French. He looked at her more closely then, and his eyes softened.

"Paddy," she said, her own eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I had no right to blame you for something I would have done, in your place. If I were you, and I had known that my friends were in danger, my cousin, and my best friend, and the woman that-" she stopped, unsure how to refer to herself.

"Has my heart," he replied quietly, and her tears spilled over onto her cheeks at that.

He moved his body over, then, and raised his eyebrows at her. She climbed in and sat beside him in his creaky, ancient bed. "I really was in a pinch, you know," she confided, wiping her eyes. "I'd never in my life been so happy to see a dog than when you arrived and dragged Peter away."

He chuckled softly and squeezed her knee.

"I don't know how many of us you saved," she continued. "You might have saved Mooney's life. Maybe Kingsley and Mad-Eye, too. The truth is, I'm glad you came. I was just angry because- because I couldn't stop thinking of what could have happened to you. But I had no cause, you didn't deserve the things I said."

He patted her knee. "It's all right, Rosey. I've said a fair few things I didn't mean when I was angry before. I said a few tonight."

"You didn't say anything I didn't deserve to hear," she answered, still tearful.

"But I didn't have to say them like that. I shouted at you. I'm sorry." His voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he said it.

Rose moved to sit a little closer to him. "But, you're right, of course you're right," she said, shaking her head. "It's not for me or anyone else to tell you what to do. And we can't look on this war as a chess game, with people for pieces. That's what separates us from the Death Eaters. We love each other." Her hand reached in the dark for his and grasped it tightly.

"You weren't wrong about all of it," he said in a low voice. "I _was_ partly just angry about Wormtail. That he'd gotten away again. And somehow I'm angry about Lily and James all over again, about twelve years in Azkaban, because we taught Peter Pettigrew to turn into a rat. I think if I'd caught him tonight I would have swallowed him whole."

"Which wouldn't have done you any good," Rose observed, amused.

"No," he admitted, "But as painful as it would have been, excreting his bones would have been a great satisfaction to me." Rose snorted, and he grinned up at her.

"Since we're confessing," she said, "I think I was also angry because it seemed as if you think I can't handle myself. I thought perhaps you went to Wiltshire because you thought I'd be a liability to the Order. I suppose I'm afraid that because you can remember when I was a little girl, you'd always see me that way."

"I don't make a habit of inviting little girls into my bed," Sirius said, kissing her hand. She chuckled.

After a quiet moment, he went on. "You're very good, you know. At fighting. It was like watching a lethal dance, your duel with Rookwood. You met him, spell for spell. I wouldn't have interfered, if he hadn't charged you; I could see you were better than he was. Why on earth did you Disarm him instead of Stunning him, by the by?"

"I didn't want another body to carry," she replied, and he laughed. "And, Disarming is the first defensive spell I learned. I rather favor it."

Sirius shook his head, smiling. "'I wouldn't cross her,' he said. He knew what a force you were."

"Who said?"

"Ollivander. When I took you to get your wand. You were such a funny little thing then; I was quite fond of you. But Rosey, I am in no doubt that you're a woman grown. And you fight like you were born to it." There was unmistakable pride in his voice.

Rose felt warmth creep up from her stomach to her chest. Abruptly, she put her feet under the sheets and pulled his blanket up over her. "Supposing I stay with you the rest of the night? Keep the Dementors away?"

"Nobody so good at it as you," he said, opening his arms to her. She settled in them eagerly and breathed in the smell of him under the sheets.

"It's ironic," she said after a moment, "Since I still can't produce a Patronus."

"But I can," he whispered in her ear. "All I have to do is look at you. See?" He reached for his wand and turned it in a small, jerking spiral. " _Expecto Patronum."_

The silver dog which bounded out of his wand did several enthusiastic laps around Sirius' bedroom before it, too, curled up on the bed. Rose watched it for a long time before it finally disappeared with a pop. Its owner gave a small snore, and Rose closed her eyes.

1 "Whore!" often used as an oath, similar to f***

2 "What a fine mess!" Literally, "shit pile."

3 Damned peacocks


	22. Third Flower Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Cross-Pollination

 **A.N. Dates: Mostly February 26; the last section, when Firenze enters the school, occurs on the evening of March 11.**

 **Reviews are bonus fries!**

Rose usually tried to sit as close to Minerva McGonagall as she could manage during meals. She had looked at the formidable Scottish lady with respect the year before, remembering McGonagall's visit to them at Godric's Hollow; Rose somehow felt she had her to thank for her ability to go to Beauxbatons. But her affection for Minerva McGonagall been growing ever since Rose had heard her deconstructing her inspection results with Professor Flitwick back in September.

"'Professor demonstrates an acceptable level of mastery of the material. Professor's pedagogical techniques are deemed adequate,'" McGonagall had read out, to a jovial chuckle from Flitwick. "Adequate. Humph. Well, as a professional Ministry pedant and part time sycophant, Dolores Umbridge ought to know," she had said dryly. When Rose had snorted into her coffee, McGonagall bestowed on her a rare, thin-lipped smile.

The other part of Rose's interest in Minerva McGonagall was owed to the lavish affection with which Sirius alway spoke of her.

"Oh, Minnie McGonagall possesses all of my heart that does not belong to you, _ma chou_ ," he had told her on her last visit to Grimmauld Place. "She is a paragon of woman; I can't praise her too much. I flirted with her shamelessly while I was at school," he said, raising his eyebrows at her confidingly. Rose had rolled her eyes at this. "But behind it was real admiration for her mind and her spirit. You see, she was the only solid limit that James and I knew in our quest to fill every inch of that school with mischief. Were the two of you in the same room, I would hardly know on whom to bestow more attention. You will have to become used to sharing my affection with Minnie McGonagall, _Mademoiselle."_

Often, Rose arrived for breakfast earlier than McGonagall did; Minerva, who had been teaching for so many years, did not need much preparation before her lessons began, as Rose did. But on this last Monday in February, Rose went to breakfast rather later than usual. And so, she found herself settling to a breakfast of sausage and eggs between Professors Trelawney and McGonagall. The house elves had discovered her preference for pan au chocolat, and she was nibbling the last, flaky end of one when Sybill Trelawney let out a startlingly loud gasp.

"I knew it!" she half shouted, half whispered, her large, mad eyes popping. "February 26th, just as the runes declared. Oh my dear," turning to Rose, "Your nephew- never mind how I know. A seer always _knows,_ Miss Evans. The bonds of blood are visible to the properly attuned, my dear."

Minerva snorted. "I suppose having heard Professor Dumbledore tell us of Miss Evans' relation to Mr. Potter during the staff meeting ahead of the Beauxbatons delegation was merely confirmation of the fact, eh Sybill?"

Sybill ignored this. "I have come upon a most interesting article in this month's issue of _The Quibbler_ , one that my dear colleagues may be very interested to read."

"Yes, but what does that tabloid have to do with Potter, Sybill?" Minerva asked, leaning in to where Sybill had slid the folded paper in front of Rose. Both of them peered at the paper, sprawling with lurid colors and madcap fonts. Front and center, however, was a picture of Harry looking rather sheepish, under the headline, "Harry Potter Speaks Out At Last: The Truth About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named And The Night I Saw Him Return."

Rose stole a swift look at Minerva. Her eyes were narrowed, and her mouth slowly dropped. Her beady eyes looked from the paper up to where Harry was sitting next to Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. The three of them were up to their elbows in letters, owls clustering around them, waiting to be relieved of their letters. Harry was gazing down at one such letter, while Hermione seemed to be reading one aloud, and Ron was showing the contents of his to Fred.

Minerva looked at Rose, who looked pointedly at the end of the table where Dolores Umbridge was sitting. Rose could see in Minerva's eyes that they were both wondering the same thing: how long did they have before Umbridge discovered the article? Minerva acted decisively. Looking down at the paper again, she tapped it with her wand and muttered, " _Gemino._ " After repeating the spell a second time, and put the original back into Sybill's ring-heavy hand.

Rose placed a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ over half of the article and began to read.

 _Harry Potter, 15, currently a student at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, has long been the target of sneering and pointed barbs from_ The Daily Prophet _for proclaiming the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The_ Prophet _claims Potter is dangerous, unhinged, and delusional._

BUT IS HE?

 _I recently sat down with Mr. Potter at a well-known Hogsmeade establishment, where he told the whole story of his capture by Death Eaters, what he witnessed in a graveyard outside Little Hangleton in Derbyshire, and the use to which he was put in a dark ritual which resulted in the bodily return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

" _These ten Death Eaters didn't escape Azkaban by accident," Mr. Potter declared during our interview. "They're back because Voldemort is back. He's called back his Death Eaters-" (a full list of whom can be read below), "and he's going to get more and more powerful unless the Wizarding World does something to stop him, and soon."_

 _I asked Mr. Potter to account for the recent death of fellow student and Triwizard Tournament contender, Cedric Diggory._ The Daily Prophet _has reported that Diggory's death was a tragic accident, caused by the dangerous conditions inherent to the Triwizard Tournament. Many placed the blame for Mr. Diggory's death at the feet of Albus Dumbledore, alleging that he did not do all that was necessary to protect student contenders during this high-profile event. However, Mr. Potter's response directly contradicts this explanation:_

" _What happened to Cedric Diggory? Voldemort murdered him! Just after we were transported to the graveyard, Voldemort ordered his servant to murder him. It was Peter Pettigrew, by the way, who is definitely alive and working for Voldemort right now."_

 _(For more discussion of the continued survival of Peter Pettigrew, and its implications about the innocence of Sirius Black, see the the sidebar on page 2)_

The article filled the colorful first page of _The Quibbler_ , and stretched through ¾ of a page of tiny print on the second. Rose read it with a racing heart, glancing up every few sentences to make sure that Dolores Umbridge was still occupied with _The Daily Prophet_ at the end of the table. Harry had told the whole story of his abduction to the graveyard, named every Death Eater present on that night, and had even boldly asserted Sirius' innocence in the sidebar on the second page. Rose struggled against conflicting impulses; one, to hurry Harry out of the hall and as far away from Dolores Umbridge as she could manage, and the other, to leap onto the table and dance. Pride and exaltation surged in her blood. Hermione and Harry had found a way, a constructive way this time, to fight back.

Rose turned and looked at Minerva McGonagall, who had also finished reading and who looked back at her briefly. Her face had the same look of fierce pride on it that Rose could feel beaming out of her own.

"He may have rather stepped in it, though." Minerva said, so quietly as to be almost inaudible.

"He knows what he's doing. And what he doesn't know, Hermione Granger does," Rose replied in a whisper. The two shared a confidential, small smile, before Minerva cleared her throat, tapped her copy of _The Quibbler_ and murmured, " _Deleo."_ Rose, who was sure that the older woman only did the incantation aloud for Rose's benefit, did the same spell to her own paper and watched the words disappear from the folded paper.

She looked up to see Umbridge standing behind Fred Weasley and Luna Lovegood, across from Harry. She could not hear their conversation, but the substance of it was clear as the squat woman caught the copy of _The Quibbler_ which Harry threw at her ( _threw at her!_ Rose marveled at his gall). Umbridge's face become increasingly threatening as she made her last remarks to Harry and stalked away, still holding the paper in her hands.

Once she observed Umbridge actually leave the Great Hall, Rose stood up. She had pushed in her chair before her plate and cup had been Vanished, and, smiling pleasantly at McGonagall, Flitwick, and Dumbledore, she strode through the middle avenue of the hall. As she passed the place where Hermione sat next to Ron Weasley, Rose leaned in toward her and whispered, "Try _Deleo_ for the other copies of the paper." She chanced a glance at Harry, and gave him a very small smile before flouncing away from them.

Overnight, Harry seemed to have become every professor's favorite student. As Harry went from class to class, more and more rubies kept falling into the Gryffindor hourglass, as teachers found more and more excuses to give him points. Rose personally witnessed Professor McGonagall giving him 25 points for having his robes buttoned up properly (in contrast to Ron, whose robes were missing several buttons anyway and who had appeared to make little effort to button the remaining ones at all).

When the fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins came out of Potions the day after the interview had been published, Rose stepped out of her office with her arms full of papers to mark. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were among the last to leave the classroom, though Harry seemed to be trying to outstrip Hermione, for some reason. Rose watched Snape shut his door, and as the last few students were emptying out of the hall, she made a show of dropping her papers spectacularly in all directions. She threw up her hands and rolled her eyes. " _Zut,_ " she said, shaking her head, and lowered herself to the ground to pick them up.

When Harry dropped down beside her and began to gather the papers he could reach into a stack, she said, loudly enough for the last Slytherin students in the hall to hear, "Oh, how kind of you. Thank you, Mr. Potter. Fifteen points to Gryffindor."

Harry, who was facing away from the others, rolled his eyes at her. She chuckled softly as Ron and Hermione also crouched down to help stack the papers. Once the hallway was empty of other students, Rose withdrew her wand and flicked it, Summoning all the papers, including those that Ron was attempting to stack, into a neat pile in front of Rose's knees.

"Come on, you three," she murmured, smiled at Ron's exasperated expression.

They trooped after her into her office. Rose waited until Hermione had finished closing the door before she broke into a grin and embraced her.

"Hermione. I had no idea what you were going to do, but I knew it would be good. But this-" and she leaned back and looked into Hermione's smiling face, "This exceeds expectations. You have something on that Skeeter woman, you must do! And you used that to persuade her to interview Harry. Don't deny it, I know you did. Hermione, well done. I'd award you extra credit for engaging in effective protest, if your average in my class hadn't already exceeded 100 percent." Hermione was blushing now, but her eyes sparkled at Rose happily.

"So you think it was a good idea? Not too reckless?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Not a bit of it!" Rose replied. "You broke no known school rules, Ministry laws, or educational decrees in merely talking to a journalist outside of the school grounds. Now, I can't speak for whatever you did to convince Skeeter to write the article," and she looked pointedly at Hermione, who smiled and raised an eyebrow, "but giving the interview was perfectly within bounds."

"She's given me another week's detention anyway," Harry pointed out, though he was smiling as he said it.

Rose reached for him and hugged him too. "I'm so proud of you!" she said against his shoulder. He really was getting alarmingly tall. "You just put that good numbing herb I gave you on your hand before you go to detention," she said as she released him. "And think of it this way, Harry: you're giving yourself your first tattoo!"

Ron laughed and punched Harry on the arm. "Wicked," he proclaimed as Harry playfully slapped back at him. "Wait till Bill hears you got a tattoo before you were of age. He'll be jealous; Mum wouldn't let him when he was in school."

"I sent Sirius a message through Minerva McGonagall. We made sure he got a copy. He's so proud! Here, he's sent this-" and she retrieved the envelope containing his letter for Harry.

"How did you get this so fast?" Harry asked. "Did you go to Grimmauld last night?"

She shook her head. "We in the Order have other ways to communicate. Dolores Umbridge would be hard pressed to monitor Minerva McGonagall's fire, if Albus Dumbledore didn't want her to. And he doesn't," she added, grimly.

As Harry pocketed the envelope, Rose looked at his face, noting the dark circles under his eyes. "And how has Occlumency been going?" she ventured.

He looked at her for a moment, and she had all the answer she needed in his expression. It was discouraged, weary, but also angry. His eyes darted to Hermione, then. "Well, not so well," he managed to say.

"I'd say not," Hermione commented. She had crossed her arms over her chest and was looking at Harry with undisguised disapproval.

"Don't you have some revising to do?" Harry asked her, a bit more sharply than he usually spoke to her.

"Yes, actually," she replied, "and we might as well get to dinner so we can get on with it. Ron, you're behind from Quidditch. Come on."

Ron looked at Harry and shrugged. Harry nodded in a way that seemed to encourage his departure, so Ron said, "Well, good night, then, Rose."

"Don't leave without biscuits!" Rose cried. When they left, Ron and Hermione had the better part of a packet of biscuits between them wrapped in handkerchiefs. Harry flopped onto his usual chair as soon as they shut the door.

"What's happened, Harry?"

He rubbed his eyes as he said, "It's just not working, is all. It's getting worse. More vivid, more often, and my scar hurts a lot of the time. Last night was- bad."

"Would it help to tell me what you saw?" Rose asked.

"Voldemort was talking to Rookwood about Bode. You remember, that Unspeakable who was murdered-?"

"I do remember. Go on."

"Well, he was under the Imperius Curse when he broke into the Ministry. They murdered him because he knew too much. Voldemort was trying to find someone to blame for giving him wrong information, but he hadn't found the person yet. He's trying to come up with another way to steal- whatever it is."

Rose's eyes had widened. "Harry, is it all right if I pass that along to the Order? That's the sort of information that might really- I mean, of course, we suspected, but to have it confirmed . . . Dumbledore might want to know."

"You know, I don't think he'll want to hear about anything I learned that way," Harry said, rather bitterly. "I'm supposed to have learned how to block this stuff out."

"And that's why you're arguing with Hermione?" Rose asked.

"Yes," he said shortly.

Rose sat down in her accustomed chair and pulled it close to Harry's. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you want to be able to block it out? Or is it actually a bit reassuring to know what he's doing-?"

He looked sick. "I hate it. I hate that he can get to me, I hate looking in the mirror in a dream and seeing him. I hate _being_ him. Because that's how it is, every time. I am him. I think his thoughts. When I wake up, I think- I think I'm cracking up." He blinked and took a deep breath before continuing. "Snape says to 'empty my mind of emotion' before bed. It's impossible. I can't feel nothing. I feel _everything_."

Rose brought her chair closer to him and squeezed his arm. "Of course. You can't force yourself to feel nothing. What you want to feel is peace. And clarity. You can't replace emotion with no emotion, just like you can't replace thoughts with no thought. Have I ever told you about Astou's moon?"

He shook his head, frowning.

Rose looked toward her bed, but in her mind she was seeing Astou's bed at Beauxbatons, feeling the comforting sensation of Astou's warm body and confidential voice in the dark. Perhaps, she thought, Astou could help Harry too.

"I wish you could meet her, Harry," Rose began slowly. "You'd like her. I'd have to translate; she only speaks French and Wolof. But she was my best friend at school, rather like Ron is for you. She's so funny, and so wise. And she told me about her trick at a time when I badly needed to get control of my emotions. This is what I do."

But at that moment, both of them froze. Dolores Umbridge's voice was echoing down the hallway. "Students should not be in the corridors during meal hours! What are you three doing down here?"

To Rose's displeasure, the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy answered her. "Oh, hello, Professor. Oh, we're only concerned for Potter's safety. You see, no one's seen him since Potions let out. We wondered if he'd collapsed down here somewhere. He's prone to doing that, you know, when he thinks he sees a Dementor."

"Well, that is very insightful, yes," Umbridge said, sounding slightly mollified. "Yes, we must be sure Potter is accounted for. We wouldn't want him to think no one notices his doings at this school. There is no telling what extremities of rule-breaking he might reach. I wonder-" and to her horror, Rose heard a knock at her office door.

She gestured to Harry to cover himself with the Cloak, but he was already vanishing under it. Rose cleared her throat and was just walking to the door when she heard yet another unexpected voice join the conversation in the corridor.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle, what is the meaning of this? Dinner is underway." Severus Snape pronounced this inquiry laconically, apparently just feet away from Rose's office door.

"We're looking for Potter, Professor," Malfoy said, in his oiliest, most sycophantic voice. "We're terribly concerned for him; he has not been seen at dinner, you see."

"How touching," Snape responded cooly. "You may relax your vigilance in this case, however. Mr. Potter is currently serving detention with me. His last homework has earned yet another D, you see, so I have insisted that he revise it under my supervision."

"You are so exacting in your expectations of students, Snape," Umbridge said, sounding satisfied. "Potter's time can not be better spent, if you ask me."

"I am gratified as ever by your approval." Snape said dryly. "Crabbe, Goyle, Mr. Malfoy, to the Great Hall. Now."

Rose could hear the students depart. Snape resumed, "Now, if you please, I am going to go back to my office to check on Potter's progress. Good evening, Dolores."

"I'll go with you," Umbridge offered. "You may find some extra authority very handy with Potter. He's an especially difficult case."

"I am aware of it. And, certainly you may come. I do not usually have guests on the days when I am drying the _Rafflesia,_ as most people find the smell objectionable. It does tend to cling to the clothing. But I did not feel the need to excuse Potter from his detention on that account. Your commitment to enforcing discipline is most admirable."

Umbridge's voice become flustered as she answered, "Yes, well, I think we'll just let Potter get on with it. You are more than adequate to supervise him, Snape." There was the sound of her clacking feet echoing down the corridor, and, moments later, they heard Snape walking back in the direction of his office.

Both Rose and Harry waited in silence for another minute yet. Rose had lost track of the invisible Harry. Then his incredulous voice sounded immediately to her left.

"Did Snape just cover for me?"

Rose gasped and clutched her chest. " _Putain de merde,1_ Harry!" She closed her eyes and exhaled, then opened them and swatted at him.

He had pulled off his Cloak and grinned. "Sorry."

When she had shook her head at him and and caught her breath, she answered his question. "And yes, I think he did. But _why_ he did is as far from my knowledge as from yours. But you'll have to put that Cloak back on when you leave, now. You might want to eat under it, too."

"I'll stop at the kitchens," he said. "I've got friends there."

"Then you have time," Rose decided. "Sit down. I want to tell you about the moon."

* * *

The entire school seemed to be gathered in a press in the entrance hall. "This is Firenze," Dumbledore said, to ringing silence from the assembled students and staff, "I think you'll find him suitable."

Like everyone else, Rose had watched the scene play out in astonished silence. She'd clenched her fists furiously when she had arrived on the staircase next to Severus Snape and seen Dolores Umbridge attempting to forcibly remove Sybill Trelawney from Hogwarts. When Minerva McGonagall had stepped in to comfort the distraught Trelawney, Rose was amazed to find her admiration for her colleague could rise still further. But when Firenze entered the hall, Rose saw Snape roll his eyes and retreat back down the stairs to the dungeon and she followed him.

"It was good of him," Rose observed to Snape as they returned to their corridor in the green-lit dungeons.

He looked surprised that she had spoken to him; indeed, he looked around to see if anyone else could have been supposed to respond to the remark. Seeing no one, Snape said grudgingly, "What was?"

"Intervening for Sybill like that," said Rose. "Arranging things so that she could stay. It's encouraging for whichever of us is next."

"She has to stay at Hogwarts," Snape replied. "Dumbledore knows this. It was not mere kindness."

"Has to- why does she have to?" Rose frowned at him perplexedly.

Snape shot her a look that made it plain that if she did not already know the answer to this, he was not going to tell her. Instead, he said, "And, as your instruction appears to have satisfied her ideas of effectiveness, I doubt you will be the subject of a scene such as that."

"If she finds out my relation to Harry, I may," Rose said in an undertone.

They were approaching her office. He turned around as she unlocked her door, his eyes boring into her. "Yes, well, you want to be rather more subtle about that. Having the boy for tea is both unnecessary and imprudent."

"We'll have to disagree about the necessity, Severus." The door was open now, and she hesitated, and then gestured for him to follow her into her office. He did so, frowning slightly. On the other side of her door, Rose asked, "Why did you do it, anyway? Why did you cover for us?"

He met Rose's gaze, his face its usual unreadable mask. He seemed to be considering how to answer. Then he said, "Dolores Umbridge is, like most Ministry officials, nosy, meddling, and superfluous. She is also easily deceived, as you have discovered for yourself," he added, nodding to her. "I would prefer that she spend as little time as possible in the vicinity of my office. That is all."

"I see," Rose replied, as always, not sure whether she could take him at his word. "Well, it was deftly done. I thank you."

He nodded, and turned to go. "Wait," she said, and he turned. She cleared her throat. "Harry is not getting on at all in his Occlumency lessons. Is he?"

"He refuses to apply himself," Severus replied disdainfully. "For all his fame and for all his sailing around on his broom-" gesturing to the Quidditch pitch, "as a wizard, he is mediocre to the last degree, your relation notwithstanding."

"He learned to cast a Patronus when he was thirteen years old." Rose said quietly.

"A party trick," he sneered.

But she shook her head. " _I_ can't cast a Patronus."

He raised an eyebrow. "That _is_ surprising," he admitted grudgingly. "I confess, I would not have thought that charm would present a challenge to one so capable as yourself."

"Well, Severus," Rose responded, a bit coldly, "Perhaps I've never been quite happy enough."

He looked at her for a moment, his expression slightly less disdainful. "Casting a Patronus is not a matter of the degree of one's happiness, Miss Evans. It requires only the ability to focus on that happiness. It may be that your concentration is simply not being correctly applied."

"Well, be that as it may," said Rose, who was not eager to discuss her emotions, however theoretically, with Snape, "Harry learned how to cast a Patronus, a feat which baffles many adult wizards, from Remus Lupin when he was thirteen years old. He learned from a man who earned his trust, and who treated him with respect."

"Oh, yes, Lupin certainly earned trust, by dwelling among hundreds of students for an entire year without revealing that he is, in fact, a werewolf," Snape sneered.

"That deception was necessary, and you know why it was," Rose answered, somewhat defensively. The memory of what Ron and Harry had told her about Snape having been the reason Lupin lost his job rankled her. "But you disregard my point: Harry was able to learn from Remus because he trusted Remus. I do not think he trusts you. And really Severus, you have given him no reason to trust or like you. You _know_ you haven't"

"He is his father all over again. And I never could turn my back on James Potter; he hexed people for the fun of it, and laughed. And his son is just as arrogant, just as puffed up-"

"Isn't it really time to get past this feud with James and look at the boy who's actually in front of you?" Rose interrupted. She was careful to modulate her voice and show less anger than she felt. "I knew James too, and he was- energetic. He was confident, yes, and I can see how he might have seemed arrogant-" Snape scoffed, but Rose plowed on, "but Harry is not James. He is not really even that much like James, who was always so high spirited. Harry is passionate, yes, but he's also serious, and thoughtful, and affectionate to the people he loves. Even his sense of humor- but never mind all that," she checked herself, as Snape threatened interrupting with every word she said in Harry's praise, "whatever you think of him as a person, you must see that he's not learning from the way that you're teaching him. He needs more information. Couldn't you just talk to him?"

"There is no substitute for practical experience." Snape said. His mask of indifference had returned. "And, if you are so concerned with character, one has to wonder why you would spend so much time with the criminal, Black. He is every bit as bullying and arrogant as James Potter was, despite being, supposedly, an _adult_." Snape said the last word with vociferous contempt.

"I can see that mutual hatred is too much of a habit with you and Sirius," Rose said, shaking her head. "I should not hope to overcome it. But you ought to know, these lessons seem to be taking more away from Harry's defenses than they are adding to them. A new tact is needed, Severus."

"Yes, well, thank you for your advice," Snape responded testily. "Now, if that is all," and he turned to go.

Rose walked closer to him. "If you would only look at him and see Lily. He's really so much like Lily, Severus. You- you did get along with Lily, didn't you?"

He had stopped, with his back still to her. Then he turned and look into her eyes. "For a while," was all he said, but he said it an uncharacteristically low voice. For a moment they just looked at each other, and Rose thought that she had never met someone who seemed to carry so many secrets as Severus Snape.

"Well. Goodnight, Rose Evans," Snape said, and turned and walked out of her office.

1 "Holy shit!" or literally, "whore of shit."


	23. Third Flower Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Against the Frost

 **A.N. Date: Conversation with Tonks, March 12.**

 **Department of Mysteries and Grimmauld, March 15 & 16, 1996**

 **Caveat emptor: I have changed the rating because of this chapter. If you don't want to read any sexual content, only read the first half of this chapter.**

 **Reviews are well-placed allusions to metaphysical poetry: always welcome.**

By this time, nearly every student knew that the Floo network at Hogwarts was being watched. And it was being watched, as far as any student, or Dolores Umbridge, could see. Dolores Umbridge was indeed watching all of the castle's fires, or at least, those that the Order did not wish to make use of on any given night.

Dumbledore had explained it at their strategy meeting months before. "Allowing Dolores Umbridge to believe her authority over Hogwarts is absolute will be key to the safety and well-being of the students," he had said, looking at the assembled Order members earnestly from behind the half-moon spectacles. "At the same time, the Order will, at times, put measures into place to protect students where their safety is threatened, either by Voldemort, or by the excesses of the Ministry of Magic." Order members could not make use of the school's network whenever they wished, for Dumbledore had to perform the temporary removal of the Ministry's Surveillance charms himself. But if an Order member wished to have a particular conversation, or if it suited Dumbledore's own purpose to allow a Floo conversation to occur without Umbridge's knowledge, they needed only send a Patronus to Dumbledore.

For this reason, though Rose was surprised to hear a SNAP! in her office fireplace on the night following her conversation with Severus Snape, she was not shocked. She was even pleased when the head that appeared in the fireplace was Tonks' luridly pink one. "Wotcher, Rose," she sang out, and Rose happily pulled a cushion over and sank down onto it, next to the fire.

"Hello, Tonks! I'm so pleased to see you. Is everything all right? Is anyone hurt?"

"Everyone's fine, as far as I know."

"Remus and Sirius are well?"

"Both fine; we played cards last night, with Emmeline Vance. Remus won three galleons, and I even convinced him to take it."

"Oh, well done there," said Rose.

"Yeah, he can be fairly stubborn about not acting in his own interest," Tonks observed, smiling fondly. "How about you, everything all right at Hogwarts?"

"About as well as it can be, under the circumstances," Rose replied. "She's sacked Sybill Trelawney, Tonks."

"Oh, blimey, really? What a scene!"

"It was," Rose confirmed. "But Dumbledore stepped in; she won't have to leave the castle. And he's got a centaur from the Forbidden Forest taking over her classes. So all in all, it was really a Dumbledore win. More allies, you know."

"Ooh, see if you can't manage a chat with the centaur. They're supposed to be fascinating."

"I'll see what I can do. It's hard to imagine him eating at the staff table. But I can see if Harry's spoken with him; he's still taking Divination." Rose shifted her weight and brought her legs around to the other side of the cushion. "So why don't you tell me why you've Flooed me? I know you had to get Dumbledore to arrange it, so you must have a reason."

"There is something I wanted to ask, yeah." Tonks replied. "See, I was supposed to have guard duty on Friday night, but now I've got an evening Auror mission assigned to me. And I can hardly tell them that I had a previous engagement, can I?"

"No, I see what you mean."

"Yeah. So, I know you're supposed to go and see Sirius for the weekend, but I wondered if you'd mind postponing your visit by a few hours. You know it's not so bad anymore; we've divided up the night shift now, so you don't have to go all night like we used to. I've got Emmeline doing the second one. You'd just be on from nine to two. Bit of a late night, but-"

"Of course I will, Tonks. It's not a problem." Rose spoke with conviction.

"Aw, cheers, Rose, I owe you one."

"You don't. That's why I moved back to Britain, to help the Order."

"And keep an eye on your troublemaking nephew."

"Yes, and that." Rose smiled.

"And to manage my ungovernable cousin. Thank you for volunteering for that, actually. He's been a sight easier to deal with since the two of you started- well." Tonks grinned, and Rose blushed, but continued to smile. "You really like the old sod, don't you, Rose?"

"I really do," she agreed.

"Going to marry him?"

Tonks' question seemed to take her by surprise as much as it did Rose. She did not back down from it, however, but raised her eyebrows and cocked her head so that the green flames licked at her contrasting pink hair.

Rose took a breath before answering. Last year, she would have found the question impertinent and would have found some way to avoid answering it. But this year . . . she was remembering Lupin's words, and thinking that he was right, and she needed a female friend, and before she could think herself out of it she said, "Well... we can't, obviously, as things stand. But if he was free? Yes, I suppose I would. Yes." Rose had found herself smiling as she spoke. She was thinking of waking up in Sirius' bed on her last visit, and of the full ten minutes she had spent that morning just looking at him, his mouth open, his hair a black streak across his pillowcase.

Something of her reverie must have shown on her face, because Tonks' eyes widened. "Oh, Merlin, you've got it bad. Well listen, don't worry, I won't tell him or he'll be unbearable. But it's good to know. And if it means anything to you, well- I think he couldn't have done better."

"Oh, Tonks. Thank you," Rose's chest was now feeling as it had when Harry had first called her Auntie. "I'll be there on Friday, Tonks. Tell Sirius for me, that I'll be arriving late, won't you?"

* * *

Order members had their choice about where to sit for guard duty. They could sit in the Hall of Prophecy itself, or they could sit in the strange circular room which contained the doors to every other part of the Department of Mysteries. Moody encouraged them to take occasional strolls into other parts of the Department. "The Hall of Prophecy may be the buggers' destination," he'd said, "But that doesn't mean an attack will start out there. They know we're guarding it, and they may try to catch you unawares, trap you, or just outlast you. Besides, if you're walking around, you're not asleep!" _Constant vigilance_ , Rose said to herself as she paced up and down the Halls of Prophecy. She'd been here for just over two hours and already she was struggling against warring urges to either lie down and sleep on the floor or to do something loud and dramatic to counter the eerie silence of the place. On impulse, as she made her way down row forty-nine, she turned three pirouettes in a row.

The globes on the shelves flickered at different times, casting weird shadows on the walls. They brought just enough light so that Rose could see, dimly, to the end of each row, but no further. The silence was absolute, though occasionally she could swear that she felt a cold breeze from nowhere, nudging at her skirt and lifting the loose hairs on her forehead. It was like a ghostly library, and she liked it no better than she had the last time she'd had guard duty.

Once in a while, she'd make her way to row ninety-seven and gaze at the blue orb they were protecting. She'd stare at her nephew's name in the spidery writing on the label and think about the real Harry, back at Hogwarts, probably in the Gryffindor Common Room, revising, or joking with his friends. Or perhaps he was already asleep; perhaps (she knew a twinge of worry then) he was looking at the world through Voldemort's eyes and would soon wake, afraid and disgusted at the intrusion. Perhaps he was dreaming of the Hall of Prophecy right now, as he had told her he often did. When she had this thought, Rose stopped and stood with her eyes closed for a moment in something like a prayer. _Don't worry, Harry_ , she thought. _We're standing guard, so you don't have to._ Not for the first time, Rose wished she could conjure a Patronus.

When she felt she could no longer take the silence and the cold, Rose walked back to the circular room and paced around inside it for a while. This room was slightly warmer, and a little less eerie, and Rose indulged for a few minutes in a daydream about what Sirius would be doing then. She hoped he would be sleeping, but she wouldn't put it past him to stay up to see her in. She thought about Sirius' startling, grey eyes, his ready smile, and the occasional expressions of intense frustration he wore when he thought she couldn't see. This lead her to wishing they had caught Peter the month before, which was a well worn line of thought by this time. _Sirius might have been cleared by now_ , she thought again. _I might be able to look forward to an outing with him, a pub, the London Zoo, anywhere. He might not look so desperate in his quiet moments._ Rose looked at her watch and sighed. Only half-eleven. With the thought that a change of scenery might change the nature of her thoughts, she picked a door at random and went through it.

The room was large and rectangular, and looked something like a small coliseum. The sides of the room, which were lined with benches, rose up around a sunken center. The only feature in the center of the room, to which any eyes in the room must be drawn, was a stone platform. The room's resemblance to a coliseum intensified as Rose gazed at this platform, which was venerable, yet crumbling with age. Her eyes lingered on a stone archway which rose up over the platform, made of stones which hardly looked capable of supporting its weight. From the top of the archway hung a black curtain, which was, improbably, moving. The same sort of sourceless breeze that had been disturbing her robe and her hair was fairly blowing over the black curtain, which rippled and fluttered entrancingly.

Rose could not have explained why she could not take her eyes from the curtain. It was not as if this was the oddest thing she had seen in the Department of Mysteries. Earlier that night, she had happened upon a great vat of white brains in green water, which she had gazed at, bemused, for a minute or so before returning to the Hall of Prophecy to pace again. She knew she should not linger in any one room long, other than in that room where the Prophecy was housed. But she could not seem to help staring at the archway. With Moody's accustomed bellow of CONSTANT VIGILANCE! dwindling to a whisper in her mind, Rose slowly descended the stair toward the archway.

When she was halfway down the steps, she picked up her pace. There were whispered voices coming from the archway. She could not understand what they were saying, nor could she make out anything about the identity of the whisperers. She only heard the voices, rising and falling, sometimes seeming to declaim alone, sometimes in conversation with others, but continuously whispering from the other side of the curtain. Rose was fascinated.

Somehow, while she stood in front of the fluttering curtain and listened to the whispers, she was reminded of people she had not seen in years. Her mother seemed to swim before her mind's eye, whispering to her in her bedroom, and her father, whispering in her ear. She thought of Lily consoling her at their parents' funeral, and of James, whispering, "Harry, I love you, love you, love you," in Harry's ear before he put him in the crib. Her heart felt the same kind of fascination as it had felt when she gazed upon her screaming Boggart, but there was no dread this time, and no fear. Somehow the certainty was settling over her that if she stepped through the archway, her parents, Lily, and James would all be waiting. And although that certainty was not enough to compel her to walk through, she found she could not tear herself away. After the hours of cold, eerie silence, these comforting whispers brought warmth to her body.

As the minutes went by, Rose went deeper and deeper into daydreams. She was a child again and dressing for her ballet recital, her mother stepping back from arranging her hair to look at her proudly. She was eight, and her father was laughing at the accidental magic that had salvaged her ruined birthday cake. She was ten, and James was walking her home from ballet, holding her hand under the Invisibility Cloak and whispering a joke to her. She was eleven and Lily was teaching her how to use Remus' camera, whispering so that they would not wake Harry as they took his picture. These memories washed over her pleasantly, until Rose heard the first distinguishable word in the whispers.

 _Mademoiselle_.

Sirius' voice. She stood up at this, and approached the curtain, stopping only feet away from its fluttering edge, and heard the word again. _Mademoiselle_ , he said, with the familiar laughing caress in his voice.

Rose's heart was pounding and a cold sweat had broken out on her forehead and under her arms. Sirius' voice could not be coming from the curtain. None of the voices she thought she had heard could have come from the curtain. _Could they?_ It was just that her state of mind was so queer, after these hours alone, in the darkness.

Rose forced herself to think. _Think_. She was in the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables would be studying something beyond natural or magical understanding in this room. That Rose could see the other side of the room straight through the space between the curtain and the archway, that she could apparently walk all the way around the platform and see nothing unexpected as she went, did not mean that some uncanny power was not present behind the veil.

Sirius was at Grimmauld Place. There was no reason for him to be in the Ministry of Magic. True, he may have come, as he had come to Malfoy Manor, but there was no reason for him to have taken such an action. To come to the Ministry of Magic itself would be tantamount to throwing himself back in Azkaban; surely he would not do such a fool-hardy thing. No, the much likelier thing was that this curtain was enchanted to draw people into it. The Unspeakables were perhaps studying memory, or desire, or something abstract like that, and this was simply the effect the archway had on people. And suddenly, Rose was overcome with a sense of danger, and she turned and fairly ran up the stairs and out of the chamber.

Back she went, into the circular room, which would spin if you did not speak the words to still it, back to the Hall of Prophecy, its eerie light and silent rows of glowing orbs almost comforting now in their familiarity. Rose stayed in those rows for the remaining two hours of her shift. She could not bear to think of the room with the archway; she even avoided the circular room, as it might tempt her back to the room of whispers. Better to tire her feet and her mind with pacing the rows, row four, row fifteen, row thirty-one, all the way to row ninety-seven, where she would look at Harry's name and try to think of him, asleep in Gryffindor tower by now, surely. What would he say, this boy who could cast a corporeal patronus at age thirteen, to know that her mind had nearly just been bested by a curtain?

By the time Emmeline Vance strode in, clad in a tufty blue jumper and pyjama bottoms and smelling of the wet night outside, Rose was nearly beside herself with agitation. She thought must look a fright, for Emmeline, who had approached her, smiling, quickly frowned and asked, "Are you all right, Rose? You look… a bit peaky."

"Oh, I'm all right, thank you Emmeline," Rose asserted, though her teeth were chattering as she said it. "I'm just tired. I didn't dress warmly like you did, either. Good thinking with that jumper. It's cold down here." And with a nod, she strode out of the Hall of Prophecy, through the round door, and, murmuring the counter-enchantment through shivering lips, went back to the lift for the atrium and the exit.

Sirius had stayed up, as she suspected he would. He came bounding down the stairs when she knocked as if it were two in the afternoon instead of two in the morning. In a moment she was in his arms, his warm, solid arms. He was wearing a loose shirt and wrinkled trousers under his dressing gown, and he smelt of cigarettes and firewhiskey. He grinned down at her puckishly, until he noticed her expression.

"What's the matter, _Mademoiselle_?" he asked.

At that word, her face crumpled, and then she was holding back tears against his shoulder as he stroked her back, soothingly. "It's nothing, Paddy," she responded, though her voice was choked. "It's just so eerie there. I just got a chill."

"Well, then, let's get you to bed," he suggested, and together they climbed the stairs to the Blue Room, Sirius holding her carpet bag in one hand, the other arm around Rose's waist.

"I'll, er, let you get dressed for bed, and I'll make tea, shall I?" he asked.

"Oh, yes please," she said approvingly. He nodded and left. When he came back with two cups of steaming tea, her dressing gown covered her favorite cream-colored nightgown and she was brushing her hair.

"Have you been to the loo?" he asked, putting the teacups down on the nightstand and pulling a chair up next to her bed.

"No, I was just going." When she returned, Sirius was sitting in the velvet blue chair next to her bed, sipping tea. He had started a small fire. Rose slipped off her dressing gown, climbed into bed, and gratefully accepted her tea.

As she sipped it, Sirius asked, "What's upset you, Rosey? This is more than cold."

"You're right," she admitted. But for a moment, she only drank her tea in silence. Then she said, "I hate that place."

He nodded and stretched his arms over his head, grunting in satisfaction at the cracking of his back. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, putting his tea cup down on the bedside table.

She shook her head. "Something the Unspeakables were working on rather disturbed me. I suppose I'm mostly tired." Her voice croaked as if with illness.

He nodded again, cleared his throat, and stood up. He kissed her forehead. "Shall I let you get to sleep, then?" he asked, making as if to leave.

Rose shook her head. "Stay," she said in a hoarse whisper. "Stay, Paddy, please?"

He did not need to be told twice. She slid her body to the middle of the bed and he climbed in next to her, drawing her head and shoulders onto his chest. His physical presence did something to dispel the chill in her body, but her mind was still greatly disturbed. _He's alive_ , she told herself as he held her. _Sirius is here, he was here all along, and he's alive, and I'm alive. Right now, today, we're alive._ And on impulse, she sat up, put her hands on Sirius' face, and kissed him.

And then they were kissing as they had never done before. Rose's lips opened to him, her hands roamed from his face to his shoulders, then slid under his shirt. Sirius met her with equal passion, and soon he had left off kissing her mouth and was applying his mouth to her neck, to her shoulder, and down . . . and she inhaled gratefully as all the chill and the fear left her mind, to be replaced by his warm breath on her body. She shivered, then, but not from cold.

And then he stopped, and put his face in front of hers. "Is this what you want, Rose? Are you sure?"

"Yes," she told him firmly.

He kissed her again, and she hummed happily against his mouth. His hand began to trace the outline of her nightgown, and soon he was putting his hands on her body where he had never put them before. The stretching lace sleeves of her nightgown were pushed down, and her skin seemed to swirl under his hands, as if she had turned to silk at his touch. He looked up at her after one particularly expressive sigh and asked again, "Is this all right? What you want?"

"Yes," she breathed. "And yes in five minutes, and yes in twenty, and yes in forty minutes, Sirius."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Forty minutes. Aren't you the optimist." She laughed, then closed her eyes as his mouth went back to her body. He rolled her onto her back, sat back, and took off his thin shirt. Then, together, they eased her nightgown off of her body and he continued to kiss her, and his hands smoothed her skin down, and down.

"Yes," she sighed again, and he chuckled in her ear.

"Is that all you're going to say, now?"

" _Oui_ ," she confirmed, and put a hand to his trousers.

After that, they did not speak again for a long time. Sirius took his time, kissing up and down the length of her body, causing her breathing to quicken and her eyes to close. She was sure that he was experienced in lovemaking, but he touched her reverently, taking nothing for granted.

For a while he was on his back, and she kissed his mouth, his neck, and then every one of his tattoos, the runes and the starburst and the Amalgamation that he had gotten willingly, and then, more tenderly, she kissed the numbers that had been magically branded onto his neck when he had arrived at Azkaban. With every caress and kiss, she tried to cover his body and his mind, which had endured so much, with all the love she could give.

He softened his movements for a while after this exchange, only kissing her mouth and stroking her back in long, smooth strokes. Then, he returned his mouth to other parts of her body, and she was returned to that spinning, breathless place. When she was fairly panting, he whispered in her ear, "Do you want to do the spell, or shall I?"

"You," she choked out, and he smiled and leaned to take his wand off the table. She heard Sirius say, under his breath, the incantation that would keep them from conceiving from this encounter. Replacing his wand, he positioned himself and kissed her as she drew him in.

* * *

Later, when they were both lying still, with elevated breathing and hearts still at a canter, Rose sighed and put her head on his shoulder. He smiled at her and stroked her hair.

"That was not your first time doing that." It was a statement, and she agreed to it readily enough. "Good. Not your second either?"

She smiled. "No."

"Good for you," he said, sincerely. "Mooney thought maybe it would be your first time. He warned me sternly not to seduce you. So, your first time-?"

"Was…. less good than this," she chuckled. "Antoine Paquin, a Quidditch player from my house. And I know that was far from your first time."

"True," he admitted cheerfully. "But only with one other girl has it meant anything much to me. Or to the girl, really."

"Who was she?" Rose was curious.

"Her name was Marlene," was all Sirius said.

"What happened to Marlene?" she asked, tentatively.

"Killed by the Death Eaters, just a few months before James and Lily," he replied, a touch of bitterness in his voice.

"I'm sorry, _cher_ ," she said softly.

He nodded, and for a few minutes they just held one another, and the sound of their breathing soothed the very last of her agitation away. When she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, he murmured a feeble protest. "Where are you going?"

"Loo," she answered, smiling.

"Why do women always do that?" he grumbled.

"What, go to the loo?"

"After we've slept together, they always do."

"Hygiene, Paddy. You should try it sometime." She briefly considered putting her nightgown back on, but decided against it. Instead, she made her way to the hall naked, throwing him a backward smile at the door and meeting his appreciative gaze.

The smile did not leave her lips until she climbed back into the bed. "It's three-thirty in the morning, and we are awake," she observed, placing her head back on his shoulder and feeling his arm reach around her.

"Half-three in the morning and I are old friends. I'll introduce you," Sirius said, but his voice was sleepy. They shared a soft kiss, and within minutes his breathing turned to snoring. Snug against his warm body, Rose was soon deeply asleep, and no whispers reached her there.

Morning came unreasonably quickly, with the sun shining very bright, for London. The light fell full on Rose's face just a few hours after she had fallen asleep. She woke to a wooly, vaguely painful head, and the sight of Sirius' eyes, watching her affectionately from the other side of a pillow.

"It's bad form to stare at people while they're asleep," she complained croakily, wincing at the brightness of the sun on her face.

He grinned, and sat up. "Is that light bothering you, _ma reine?_ " When she nodded, he pulled the curtain to, succeeding in at least dampening the light. " _Busy old fool, unruly sun,_ " he pronounced, " _Why dost thou thus, through windows, and through curtains call on us_?"1

"What are you on about?" she asked, a bit grumpily.

"It's Donne, _chérie_. Poetry. You should try it," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"It's too early for poetry," Rose declared, rolling over to her stomach. He laughed softly, and settled next to her. They dozed for another hour, until Rose woke and found she could tolerate the the light. Still, they did not get out of bed.

"You should sleep here, now," Rose suggested, playing idly with his hair.

"Thank you," Sirius said gravely. "I will." He kissed her, and settled his head back on the pillow. "Well, anyway, now you know I must really love you."

"Oh?" she said, holding back a smile. "And why is that? Surely not just because you've slept with me."

"You're Lily's sister," he told her, as if the meaning this statement contained were obvious. When she continued to look skeptical, he explained, "I have never in my life crossed Lily Evans Potter, not since she turned my feet into blocks of wood and transfigured my quill into a woodpecker in fourth year. If I slept with Lily's sister and then broke her heart, Lily'd nail me to the ceiling by my balls, and I don't think for a minute that her death will have impacted her ability to do that."

Rose threw back her head and laughed, and then reached a hand down to cover the part of Sirius he had mentioned. "Don't do it, Lily!" she pleaded with the ceiling. "I'm fond of Sirius' balls!"

He jumped in surprise, but grinned and retaliated by tickling at Rose's stomach. She drew her knees up convulsively, nearly striking Sirius as she did so. There was a scramble, during which Sirius was tickled, Rose was pinned down by Sirius' arms, Sirius was tickled again, and Rose emerged on the top. She rather suspected he had let her do it on purpose, but this did not stop her from claiming her prize in the form of a long kiss.

"We both have bad breath," she observed, immediately kissing him again.

"Is it worth getting out of bed to fix it, though?" he wondered.

"We could always come back to bed. I haven't got anywhere else to be, today."

"I never have," Sirius said, wryly.

Rose kissed his cheek. "One day. One day soon, please Merlin, you will. And we will sail _La Manche_ , and stroll the Champs-Élysées, and the Spanish sun will shine on you when I show you Barcelona. I will be with you, _mon amour_."

He smiled, then reached out a hand to her face. " _She's all states, and all princes, I. Nothing else is_ ,"2 he quoted. "I have the world with me now. I can wait."

1 Sirius quotes from John Donne's "The Sun Rising," here.

2 Again, "The Sun Rising." John Donne. You should really read the whole poem.

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	24. Third Flower Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Exposed to the Elements

 **A.N. We begin on Monday, April 1 and end on Tuesday, April 2, 1996.**

 **Reviews are compliments from Albus Dumbledore!**

Rose approached the Headmaster's Office more nervous than anything her experience at Hogwarts had yet given her reason to be. It was not that she feared Albus Dumbledore's company, for he had always been most pleasant to her, since she had met him at the age of eleven. Nor did she fear his criticism; the first year evaluation, the notice had made plain, was a mere formality; "Should there exist significant concerns about the quality of a teacher's performance, the Headmaster would have expressed them to the teacher in writing before the time of the evaluation," the notice had explained. No, the source of her nerves came the from fear of what she, herself, would say. This would be her first meeting alone with Albus Dumbledore since he had hired here the summer before. And since that time, she found that she had accumulated rather a lot to say him.

"Password?" the stone gargoyle asked in a surly voice.

Rose inclined her head respectfully. "Fizzing whizbee, if you please," she pronounced, and it leaped to the side, allowing the wall behind to open to her. At the top of the stairs, she knocked smartly on Dumbledore's polished office door.

"Come in," came his pleasant voice. He was sitting at his desk when she entered, but he jumped to his feet and offered her a warm handshake. "Miss Evans, how obliging of you to come and see me this evening."

Rose was amused. "The notice I received was quite specific about the time and place, sir. One does not refuse the headmaster."

"Ah, yes, an old man's whim," said Dumbledore, spreading his hands apologetically. "I will persist in doing these evaluations myself, despite having received Professor Umbridge's probably far more thorough inspection report. Quite redundant and absurd of me, perhaps, in light of her diligent work. But what can I say? I am a man of deep habits." His eyes twinkled at her, and Rose smiled in spite of herself.

"Do sit down, Miss Evans. I shall not keep you long." He sat behind his desk, and she sat in the chair he indicated in front of him. _I will stay as long as I need to, however,_ Rose inwardly promised herself as she smoothed her robes.

"Now, Miss Evans. I have really called you to see me to give you an extended compliment. Your course aims were quite ambitious, but they encompassed exactly the sorts of topics I felt were needed when I presented the need for the class to the Board of Governors. The example lesson plans you submitted demonstrate an admirable level of planning. But the far more important source for my evaluation speaks to the effectiveness of your execution." He leaned forward and put the tips of his fingers together.

"What is that source?" she asked, a bit taken aback. As far as she could tell, he had not observed any of her classes, either in person or by proxy.

"That would be your students," he replied, with a smile. "The students I selected to interview about you were not only enthusiastic in your praise, but quite conversant about the material you have been teaching. All were able to perform wandless magic, and name more than one magical culture which uses it. Nearly all were able to perform a Translation Charm, and more impressively, all were able to discuss such diverse issues as magical imperialism, Wizard Muggle relations around the world, and the state of England's diplomatic relations with several Magical governments, in Europe and elsewhere. Hogwarts students who have enrolled in your class have real knowledge which they will be able to use, and which will increase cultural literacy for our graduates. I salute you!"

Rose felt warm with pleasure. She did not doubt, when she took this position, that the course which Dumbledore proposed was important, nor that she herself was competent in the material. But knowing that her students had been able to demonstrate their learning to the headmaster filled her with pride. Rose swallowed and met his kind blue eyes with a sudden smile. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. It has been an honor for me to teach Hogwarts students. I think very highly of them," she said sincerely.

"In my experience, the best teachers are those who respect their students enough to set high expectations for them," he said. "The fact that you have managed to do all this and still command their respect in your first year is quite impressive. I do hope we will be so fortunate as to have you here in this capacity next year?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir, I think I may fairly commit to the next two years at least," she said, thinking of the amount of time Harry would remain at Hogwarts. "That is," she added, blushing slightly, "assuming I am invited to return for a third year. You were only asking about next year."

"Oh, I have no doubt we shall want you for as long as you are willing to remain at Hogwarts, Miss Evans," he assured her. "And while I have you here, let me express my gratitude for your work with the Order of the Phoenix this year. I have heard reports from Alastor and Remus Lupin about your valuable assistance in various missions, and your willingness to stand duty in the Hall of Prophecy. You have brought your gifts to bear in a time of fear and uncertainty. You have risen to the challenge of the times, and you have stood by your nephew when he has needed you this year. I know that Lily would be proud, if I may be so bold as to say so."

And now Rose had tears in her eyes. She blinked them away impatiently. _Drat him_ , she thought. _He will make this near impossible to say._ "I thank you again, Headmaster," she said, pleased to hear that her voice sounded calm and unruffled.

He nodded his acknowledgment. "Well, I know you must have a great deal of marking to do this evening. Unless you have any questions-?"

Rose took a deep breath. "I do, in fact." She looked at him for a steadying moment. His blue eyes watched her patiently. Then she steeled herself and began. "Professor Dumbledore, why aren't you speaking to Harry? Why does Harry have to learn Occlumency from Severus Snape instead of from you?"

If Dumbledore found her question surprising, he did not show it. "Severus Snape is a superb Occlumens, Miss Evans," he reprised. "His skill at Occlumency far exceeds my own, still considerable, ability." He continued to gaze at her, giving her the impression that he understood her line of questioning already.

"With respect, sir, Harry is not able to learn from Severus Snape. The animosity between them simply too great. Severus has no patience with him, and Harry hates everything to do with Snape. You must know that."

"I do," he agreed, sighing. "But I admit, I had hoped they would both be able to lay it aside for the sake of something so important."

"I wish that they were. Especially do I wish it of Severus Snape, who is an adult. But every time that I see Harry he is more beaten down by it, and his defenses do not seem strengthened by the experience. On the contrary, his visions seem only to increase in frequency and intensity." Dumbledore continued to look calm, though his eyes showed concern, now. Rose continued, "Headmaster, surely he would do better to learn from you. He is learning next to nothing as it is. But he trusts you." _Or he used to trust you_ , she added to herself.

Dumbledore sat back in his seat, appearing to measure his words before uttering them. "Miss Evans," he began slowly, "Did Harry happen to tell you about an incident which happened just before Christmas, when he was preparing to take the portkey to Grimmauld Place?"

"He told me about his vision, sir. He told me he saw it from the snake's point of view, that he felt and thought what the snake was feeling and thinking. He was frightened," Rose said, still gazing at Dumbledore unblinkingly.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, then opened them. "Yes. It is for this reason that I wished him to take Occlumency lessons; the answers to your two questions are, in fact, connected. I had long suspected that Voldemort may become aware of Harry's ability to look into his mind, and feared that he might attempt to reciprocate and look into Harry's mind. From something I saw in Harry's eyes on the day he left for the holidays...well, let us say that I think my fears were not baseless." He spoke very softly now, and his eyes were now fixed on his hands where they lay, folded on his desk.

"So you _are_ avoiding Harry? Because you think Voldemort might try to attack you through him?" Rose knew she had struck at the truth from the flash of his eyes when he looked up at her, then back down to his hands. "Sir, forgive me, but mayn't it be worth a risk? I think he feels rather abandoned this year." She tried to keep any note of accusation from her voice.

He sighed. "I understand you. And may I say that it gives me great satisfaction to know that Harry has you here at Hogwarts to rely upon? I imagine that a young aunt, a sort of sister, is more to him than any amount of Professors."

Rose smiled in acknowledgment, but she shook her head. "Headmaster, you can tell him things that I haven't the first notion about. More than anything, Harry wants information. He wants the truth. And I cannot answer his questions, and not only because you have requested that I do not tell him more than he strictly needs to know. There is so much that I am sure only you can tell him, about himself, about Voldemort, and about the war. He needs you. And I think Harry Potter has had rather enough of desertion for one life, don't you?"

She knew she had made an impact now. Dumbledore was looking at her with profound sadness. However, "I appreciate your thoughts, Miss Evans. I shall consider what you have said, and see what can be done," was all he said.

Rose recognized the dismissal and stood. "Thank you, Headmaster." She leaned across the desk, took the Evaluation Report he was handing her, and turned to leave. Then she turned around.

"Did you know that they kept him in a cupboard?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice neutral.

Albus Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted. "I'm sorry?" he asked, though Rose was quite sure he knew exactly to whom she was referring.

"My sister, and her husband. They kept Harry in a cupboard, until he got his Hogwarts letter. They used to lock him in it if he displeased them. You know, if he did accidental magic, or asked any questions that they didn't like." The pitch of Rose's voice had risen somewhat now. "They denied him meals for punishment. They let his cousin bully him. Vernon hit him. Did you know?"

Dumbledore was looking rather aghast. "I did not know those details, no," he admitted. "I knew that they were very far from treating Harry like a son. But I did not know- no."

"They don't do it anymore," she informed him. "Because they're afraid of Sirius. And, of me. They won't abuse him, now. But they will never love him. Harry grew up without knowing love. Because everyone who loved him had left him."

Dumbledore was standing very still. She could see moisture in his eyes as he watched Rose deliver this speech. She took a step toward him and deliberately softened her expression. "A lot of us have let Harry down, Headmaster. But I for one have resolved never to desert him again, if I can possibly help it."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Thank you for telling me all of that, Miss Evans. You are-" he stopped and took her hand, "you are quite right." And he placed his other hand on top of her own for a moment, before releasing it.

"Thank _you_ , Headmaster," Rose responded, somewhat nonplussed by the sincere affection which flooded her now and made it impossible for her to retain her stern expression. "Thank you for believing in me, sir, for all these years."

"It has been my sincere pleasure," he responded. "Good night, Miss Evans."

"Good night, Headmaster." And after nodding to him respectfully, Rose turned her back on Albus Dumbledore and strode out of his office.

* * *

The evening after her evaluation meeting with Dumbledore, Rose strode through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, occasionally throwing lights onto the walls with her wand to relieve her boredom. When her galleon had burned hot in her pocket on Saturday, Rose had been pleased to see that, for the first time, Dumbledore's Army was meeting on a night when she already had corridor duty. She would not need to invent another excuse to switch duties with another teacher this time. Unlike being on duty in the Ministry of Magic, Rose found the isolation and the idleness peaceful. It was an opportunity to daydream, and to practice the rainbow light charm she'd learned from Tonks the previous month.

She was sending one such rainbow arching over a staircase on between the sixth and seventh floors when the dread sound of clacking footsteps sounded beneath her. Umbridge. Rose extinguished the rainbow with a snap and put her accustomed simper on her face before turning around. " _Bon soir_ ,1 _Madame_ , and 'ow are you zis fine evening?" she asked the squat witch below her.

"Oh, I am very well, yes, thank you. Very well indeed," Umbridge added, and Rose was discomposed to see that the expression on her face was one of unusual malice. "How interesting to find you on duty tonight, Miss Evans. And yet, how appropriate, and how completely unsurprising." Her wide, toad-like mouth stretched unpleasantly wide as she spoke.

"Why is 'zat, _Madame_? I am on zee schedule. And eet is quite dull tonight, I az-ure you. _Madame_ , why do we not walk togezair? Zair are no mischief-makers to be found on zis staircase. Pairhaps closer to zee Great Hall, we will find students needing discipline?"

"No, I think I know just where to find students in need of discipline, tonight, thank you. But by all means, come with me. I think you will see something very interesting, involving someone you know very well." She had turned and was resuming her journey up the staircase when Rose quickly stepped in front of her.

"Oh, _Madame_ , I 'ave just been in zis corridor. Zair are no students zair; all ees quiet. Now, I 'ave 'eard a sound just below us, eef _Madame_ would be interested in coming wis me, bringing your authoritee to bear-"

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "No, Miss Evans, I will not fall for your tricks tonight. You and I shall certainly be seeing more of each other, but I have an urgent matter to attend to tonight. In fact, come with me, Miss Evans. I think I shall find when all is said and done that I have rather a lot of questions for you."

Dread clenched in Rose's stomach, but if she was not going to hex the woman, she could think of nothing else to do but to follow as Dolores Umbridge reached the seventh floor corridor and bustled around it energetically. Rose was right on her heels, and she knew her face betrayed her horror when she saw Draco Malfoy standing over the prone figure of her nephew. Harry's glasses had been knocked off from an apparent fall, and Draco was sneering as he said, "Hey, Professor- PROFESSOR! I've got one!"

"Oh, _ma pauvre cher_ ,2 what 'as happened?" Rose jibbered helplessly. " _Monsieur_ Malfoy, per'aps you can escort _Monsieur_ Potter to zee 'ospital weeng-?"

Umbridge ignored her. "It's him!" she said delightedly. ""Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good - fifty points to Slytherin! I'll take him from here . . . Stand up, Potter!"

Rose reached a hand out to Harry, but he got up without help, glowering at Umbridge and Malfoy. While Umbridge was ordering Draco to continue the search for "more of them" elsewhere, he glanced at her briefly. Rose tried silently to express her feelings of helplessness and worry, and he nodded at her, looking resigned. And then Umbridge was gripping his arm and dragging him toward the Headmaster's Tower.

Rose followed, but at the stone gargoyle, Umbridge turned and addressed her. "I think your help will not be needed at this time, Professor Evans. You may go."

Rose's heart sank. She could see no way to argue with Umbridge, no excuse she might use to insist on being allowed into the Headmaster's office, without contributing to the High Inquisitor's suspicions about her relation to Harry. She looked at Harry quickly, who looked meaningfully back at her. He wanted her to do something, she was sure.

Umbridge turned Harry around with her then and cheerfully intoned the password. "Fizzing Whizbee." Harry's left arm suddenly gave a jerk, and she looked down to see a piece of folded parchment gripped in his hand, behind his back. The Marauder's Map. Rose used the noise of the gargoyle's sideways leap and the following slide of the stone wall behind it to mask her quick step forward. She took the Map from Harry's hand and then stepped back; he did not turn around.

" _Bon soir, Madame!"3_ Rose said cheerfully as they went through the wall to the staircase. " _Enculer toi!"4_ And then the wall was closing and they were gone.

Rose stood in front of the gargoyle for another minute, trying to sort out her thoughts. It seemed obvious that Umbridge had learned that Harry and his associates in Dumbledore's Army were up to something subversive and intended to punish him as severely as she could manage. Her heart throbbed with worry. _But_ , she consoled herself, _they're going to be with Dumbledore. Dumbledore won't let her doing anything too bad to him. Dumbledore will find a way through this._ Her visit with Dumbledore had somewhat renewed her faith in the man. She reminded herself that Dumbledore had gotten Harry out of trouble with the Ministry this summer; surely he could manage to extract Harry from the clutches of such as Dolores Umbridge.

"Going to stand around here all night?" The gargoyle demanded.

"Forgive me, _Monsieur,_ " Rose replied politely. "I was just going."

At the bottom of the first staircase she came to, when Rose was sure she was quite alone, she unfolded the Map and tapped it with her wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," she said quietly, as Harry had told her to do. Immediately the ink spread into a schematic of the castle. Rose knew that nothing the map could show her would probably offer any clues as to Harry's fate, but she could not keep her eyes from drafting to Dumbledore's office to learn what she could.

There were an alarming number of dots assembled there. She made out Albus Dumbledore himself, Dolores Umbridge, and Minerva McGonagall and one side of the room, and on the other- her heart skipped a beat- Cornelius Fudge. He appeared to be pacing around, so that when he moved, Rose was able to see dots belonging to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and when he moved back, she again saw the dots of John Dawlish and Percy Weasley near the exit. Harry's dot looked very alone in the center of the room.

Rose tore her eyes away from the office and began to search the rest of the castle for other names of interest, perhaps of students whom she could help. It came to her that this was probably the reason Harry had wanted her to have the Map: to look for any spare members of the D.A. who might still be in the corridors, and to protect them from such as Draco Malfoy, or others who might apprehend them. _Yes, that seems like Harry_ , she thought.

As she perused the parchment, Rose could see dots belonging to Cho Chang, Terry Boot, and Michael Corner making their way up to Ravenclaw Tower, but they did not appear to have been followed. Rose thought back to what she could remember of what Umbridge had asked Draco Malfoy to do, and her eyes went to the library. Dots belonging to Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Zacharias Smith could all be found, presumably around a table, from the shape their dots made. Rose searched the rest of the first floor and felt her heart sink: a dot labeled "Draco Malfoy" was moving around in a first-floor bathroom.

Deciding that she could always re-open the Map once the Hufflepuffs in the library were safe, Rose tapped it with her wand. "Mischief managed." She stowed it away in the inside pocket of her robes as she tripped down the stairs, all the way to the first floor.

The five Hufflepuffs were indeed sitting around a table in the library when she found them. Ernie's broad forehead was glistening with sweat. Hannah had red roses on her cheeks, and Susan was still gasping a little for breath. If Draco saw them in this state, he would have more than enough evidence to bring them to Umbridge. Rose racked her brain for an excuse to break them up, one that would not give away that she knew the first thing about Dumbledore's Army. But she could not think of one.

Instead, she simply approached the flushed-looking knot and greeted them calmly. "Good evening, students. I need to tell you that we may shortly be joined by several Slytherin students, headed by one Draco Malfoy. Do you agree with me that it would be desirable to avoid his undue attention?"

They looked at her, wide-eyed, and then at each other. Horror was plain on their faces.

"Don't panic, please. Listen. I have an idea," said Rose.

A few minutes later, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson both left the bathroom to find Rose accompanying the five Hufflepuffs down the corridor. Hannah was being half supported, half carried by Justin Finch-Fletchley and Ernie Macmillan, and Zacharias was leaning heavily on Susan Bones. Draco's face lit up; he looked about to cry out in malicious delight when Ernie rasped, "Don't go in the library, whatever you do."

Pansy's eyes narrowed. "Why?" she asked in her nasal, unpleasant voice.

"Peeves," Hannah explained. "He's really on a tear. Dropped a table on my foot." She drew her face into a convincing wince.

"He chased me into the Restricted Section throwing Gobstones," Zacharias added. "Madam Pince is fit to be tied. You probably don't want to run into her just now."

Pansy and Draco looked at each other, and Draco nodded once. "Fine," he drawled. "Come on, Parkinson, we can check Ravenclaw Tower." Then his eyes fell on Rose, and he asked, with insolence in his expression, "Professor Evans, aren't you supposed to be on corridor duty tonight? Why don't you help us? We've got a mission from the High Inquisitor."

"Have you?" Rose asked, her eyes wide. "How exciting! But I'm afraid I need to escort these students to the Hospital Wing. I must prioritize the safety of students. Perhaps later on we'll run into each other again?" _Or_ , Rose thought as she made her slow way alongside the staggering Hufflepuffs, _perhaps with the help of Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, I will studiously avoid you all night._

Rose found no other D.A. members in the corridors; when she spared a look at the Map around thirty minutes after she had seen the Hufflepuffs to their common room, she found few students remained outside their common rooms, and none of them were D.A. members. She stalked the corridors anyway, however, as she was fairly giving off sparks of nervous energy whenever she stood still. A knot had formed in her stomach and refused to relax itself, for at her last check, Harry's dot remained in Dumbledore's office with Umbridge and the Ministry officials.

Her impulse was to stake out in front of the stone gargoyle; the longer Harry remained enclosed in the office, the more was Rose's distress for him. But reasoning that it would not help either of them for Dolores Umbridge to find her displaying such obvious interest in Harry, she instead lurked in the staircase just outside the seventh floor, watching the map intently. The clock had gone eleven and Rose's back was becoming very stiff indeed against the stone wall when, at last, the dots belonging to Minerva McGonagall, Harry Potter, and Marietta Edgecombe spilled out into the hallway outside Dumbledore's office. Rose watched the Map a moment longer, until she was satisfied that no other dots were forthcoming. Then she tapped with her wand, whispered, "Mischief managed," and climbed the rest of the stairs to the seventh floor.

"You will accompany me to Ravenclaw tower first, Mr. Potter," Minerva was saying when Rose emerged, "I won't have you taking any detours tonight, not now that- not now." Then her eyebrows lifted at the sight of Rose.

"Good evening, Professor. I am on corridor duty this evening. Would it be helpful to you if I escorted Mr. Potter safely to Gryffindor Tower, so that you only had one stop to make?" Rose tried make her voice sound mild and indifferent, though inwardly she was eager to get Harry alone.

Minerva nodded at her; her face just suggested a smile. "Certainly, Professor Evans. Thank you. I will see you in the morning, then."

Rose had to wait until they were out of hearing to have Harry answer her immediate area of curiosity, which was to know how Marietta's face came to be disfigured with the ugly series of boils that spelled the word "SNEAK" in bold letters from cheek to cheek. When they had descended a staircase and turned a corner, she withdrew the Marauder's Map from the sleeve in which she had concealed it and handed it to Harry. He took it without speaking.

"All of the D.A. members are safely in their common rooms," Rose told him. "There were six Hufflepuffs in the library, but I escorted them to their door. I do not believe Draco Malfoy suspects them. That _is_ why you wanted me to have the Map, am I right?"

"Yeah- Yes. Thank you." Harry looked pale, and seemed distracted.

Rose put her hand on his arm. "Are you all right? What did she do to you?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. I mean, she questioned me. It was tense. She had Fudge there, and some Aurors, and Percy Weasley."

"I know," Rose said, nodding toward the Map. "Did Umbridge do that to Marietta?"

"No. No, that, actually- that was Hermione."

Rose's jaw dropped, but she quickly shut her mouth. She did not doubt that Hermione was more than capable of the kind of spellwork that had so disfigured Marietta's freckled face, but she was shocked to think that Hermione's own moral sense would have allowed it. "Why?" Rose asked him in a voice of determined calm.

"The parchment was enchanted," he said quietly. "Anyone who let on to Umbridge about the D.A. would have had the same happen to them."

"Well," said Rose after a moment's consideration, "Fair enough, I suppose." She looked at him again, not yet completely satisfied that he was unhurt. "So, are you reprieved? On parole?"

"I'm off the hook," Harry responded, nodding.

But he still did not look either happy or comfortable, so Rose pressed, "And no other members of the D.A. are implicated? How is this possible?"

"Dumbledore," he said shortly. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he explained, "Dumbledore took the hit for me. He made it out it was all his idea, the D.A.. Fudge was thrilled," he added, a bit sourly. "He'd much prefer to get Dumbledore than me, anyway."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts. When they were in sight of the portrait which guarded the door to Gryffindor Tower, Harry threw out a hand to prevent Rose from going further. Plainly, the occupant of the portrait could not be trusted to hear what he wanted to say. "Thank you," he said, sincerely, looking her in the eye for the first time. "For being on duty. For helping those Hufflepuffs. For everything. Thanks."

She smiled at him and nodded. "Of course, Harry. Anything you need, you know that. And, I hope that Dumbledore managed a word with you?"

"He did, yes. He said to practice Occlumency, that it was really important. He said I'd understand. Well, whatever that means." Harry looked at the ground.

Rose frowned. "He didn't say anything about teaching you himself? I spoke to him yesterday, you see, and I had rather hoped he might be willing to make a change of some kind, to your Occlumency."

"He can't." Harry whispered.

"He- can't? Whyever not? I know he believes Severus to be more skilled, but-"

"No," Harry interrupted, returning his eyes to hers at least. "He can't, because he's gone."

" _Gone?"_ Rose responded, horrified. "Gone where? Surely not for long?"

"Gone on the run. I don't think he'll be back. They were all surrounding him, ready to arrest him. But he hexed them all, except for me and McGonagall. He said for me to work hard at Occlumency, and then he said he was going on the run and that McGonagall would hear from him. And he grabbed hold of Fawkes and disappeared, and he's gone and Umbridge is in charge. And it's my fault." Harry looked anguished now. His hands were in fists.

Rose put her hand back on his arm. "No. No, _cher._ It's not your fault. Dumbledore is an adult. He makes his own choices. We'll- we'll be all right, Harry. I'm still here, and McGonagall, and Hagrid." She did not mention Snape, as she knew his presence at Hogwarts had never once brought Harry comfort. "Try not to worry too much," she whispered, squeezing his shoulder.

Harry nodded slowly, though he did not look comforted. When the portrait door had swung closed behind him, Rose turned to go. "I'm glad he's got someone to look after him," the portrait said. "Poor lamb."

Rose looked back, and for the first time, she really looked at the portrait which guarded the door. "Fat Lady," she whispered to herself, dazedly.

"I beg your pardon?" The enormous woman asked, clearly affronted.

"Oh- it's nothing. A cat I knew once. She shared a name with you." And turning her back again on the now bewildered occupant of the painting, Rose walked away toward the dungeons.

1 "Good evening."

2 "My poor dear!"

3 "Good evening, Madam."

4 "Fuck you!"

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	25. Third Flower Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Perfume

 **A.N. We begin on Wednesday, April 3rd, continue to Harry's Occlumency lesson on Thursday, April 4th, and end with Rose's arrival at Grimmauld at Friday, April 5th. Easter was on April 8th in 1996.**

 **Reviews are Weasley Catherine Wheels in Umbridge's office.**

The invitation to tea with Dolores Umbridge, which arrived the morning after Dumbledore's departure from the school, did not come at breakfast, when mail and memos usually came. Instead, Rose noticed the fussy little envelope upon leaving her chamber in the morning, knocking itself against her door repeatedly. It very nearly struck her in the eye when she opened the door. Rose looked up after skimming the brief invitation ( _really not very polite,_ she thought, _more of a summons than an invitation_ ) and saw Severus Snape making his morning way down the corridor.

She caught his eye and raised her eyebrow at him, then looked meaningfully at the invitation. He stopped next to her and read the contents, then snorted derisively. "What a very great pleasure that will be," he remarked sardonically.

Rose fell into step beside him. "I think she knows," she said in a low voice. "I don't intend to confirm any of her suspicions, but I think the damage has somehow been done."

"She has no proof," Snape responded, also in an undertone. "And," he added, as they started up the stairs toward the Great Hall, "Incidentally, it will be safe to drink from anything she might offer you. The bottle in her office does not contain what she thinks it contains." When they reached the top of the stairs, they met one another's eyes briefly, and Rose gave him a nod before they broke apart to approach the teachers' tables from separate aisles.

* * *

"So kind of you to come on such short notice, Miss Evans," Umbridge said, with an affected little chortle. "I just thought it would be so very lovely to get to know one another better. I do value the opinion of a _real French_ woman when I meet one." Her eyes snapped with malice over her wide toad's smile.

Rose inclined her head. "And I am so pleezed to meet in your _charmant_ office, _Madame._ Truly, zees decorations are a delight." She motioned to the decorative plates and beribboned curtains.

"Thank you, thank you," Umbridge returned, continuing to smile as she began to bustle around the tea table. "Now. How do you take your tea? Cream? Sugar?"

" _Un_ sugar, please." She cast her eyes into her lap demurely, then batted her lashes innocently as she received her tea from Umbridge's short fingers. " _Merci."_ Rose made a great show of sipping her tea as Umbridge sat down, making approving little noises.

"Now then, now then." And her voice was suddenly brisk. "What exactly is your relation to Harry Potter?"

"Ee eez not in my class, _Madame_. I do not know heem well. But of course, 'ee is well known even in France. _Le Survivant_ , zey call heem. I am sure you could 'ave heem for tea, if you wish to know heem bettair?" Despite her fluttering stomach, Rose took great satisfaction in knowing that she had inspired the bitter disappointment plain on Umbridge's doughy face.

"Well, that is very interesting," Umbridge huffed, seeming to forget her earlier show of warmth. "Because I have it on good authority that you, being the sister of Lily Evans of Cokeworth, West Midlands, are, in fact, Harry Potter's blood relation. That you are his _aunt_ , Miss Evans. Will you deny it?"

"I would love to claim such an _éminent_ relation, _Madame_ , but I azure you, I know of no such zing." Rose shook her head and made her eyes go wide.

Umbridge sighed with frustration. "Very well then, if you will be so stubborn. Or ignorant. Do have some more _tea_ , Miss Evans," she urged, and watched as Rose obediently drank from her cup. Then she leaned forward and hissed, "Where is Albus Dumbledore?"

"Surely 'ee eez in 'iz office, _Madame_? _Ee_ often takes his meals zair, as I 'ave learned. I am sure 'ee would be made very 'appy by a visit from _Madame_." Rose said. Her cheeks hurt from smiling, now.

"He is _not_ in his office, you silly woman. He's left the school. Haven't you read the Educational Decree?" Umbridge's color was rising.

"I try to keep up wis zem, _Madame_! Only, zair are so many. Which decree eez eet you mean?"

"I am the Headmistress of this school!" Umbridge had stood up; she crossed to the other side of the room and stamped her foot. "Albus Dumbledore has fled Ministry arrest and is a fugitive. Now I ask you again: _Where is he_?"

Rose felt herself, strangely, becoming more composed the more Umbridge's composure drained away. She held the woman's furious gaze for a moment, her own face at neutral as she took another long sip of her tea. "I do not know, _Madame_ ," she answered, her voice a bit cooler than she had previously allowed it to be.

Dolores Umbridge strode over to Rose, stopping only when her feet actually came into contact with Rose's own boots. "Where is Sirius Black?" she hissed. Little droplets of spit actually flew from her mouth and landed on Rose's face. She resisted the urge to wipe them away, however, drawing a perverse kind of strength from Umbridge's unraveling.

"Zee criminal, _Madame?_ I cannot know, surely. Eef your Ministry cannot find eem, surely I cannot be thought to—"

" _Liar!_ " Umbridge screamed. "And you should not be able to lie. I cannot understand it, but lying you are. I have it on good authority; you are Rose Evans, sister to Lily Evans, aunt to Harry Potter. Where do you go on the weekends when you are gone?"

"I 'ave a flat een London, _Madame_. Zee address ees on file wis zee school—"

"That address does not exist! It has been investigated, and your story is falling apart, Miss Evans."

"Ma flat eez protected; eet eez, how is it in English, _indisossiable_ , zat eez, unplottable. I know zat your Ministry azures zee public zat all eez safe, but really some very funny rumors 'ave been spreading about zees Death Eaters. I would not to have ma 'ome found by such as zem." Rose tried to look earnest, but now, absurdly, she found she was fighting back a guffaw. Umbridge looked absolutely deranged with frustration. Her skin was red and blotchy from her hairline to the top of her bosom, which was heaving in its ruffled jacket. Her eyes popped. But just as she was opening her mouth to give another loud invective, a knock sounded on the door.

"Yes?" Umbridge snapped.

Argus Filch's voice came from the other side. "The Potter boy to see you, ma'am."

"Ah. Yes. Excellent." Umbridge seemed to realize how close she had been to losing control. She shook her head as if she was trying to clear her ears of water, and rebuttoned her jacket. "We will speak on another occasion, Miss Evans. I am not through with you."

" _Oui, Madame,"_ Rose returned sweetly. As she walked past Harry, she looked him in the eyes and smiled. "Our new 'eadmistress is such an _agréable_ 'ostess, _Monseiur_ Potter! I 'ope you are sirsty, for 'er tea eez quite good!" She winked at him, with her back to Umbridge, and then with a flounce of her robes she strode away down the corridor and into the staircase.

Once she was out of sight, Rose's pace increased. She was not sure who she hoped to find, but she felt she needed to tell someone that Dolores Umbridge was spending her first afternoon as headmistress interrogating people connected to the Order of the Phoenix. Rose felt a clarity settling over her as she walked. Gone was the uncertainty and shock she had felt after Umbridge's 26th Educational Decree. With Dumbledore gone, and Dolores Umbridge able to rule Hogwarts as she chose, Rose knew that they were now at open war.

As she passed the courtyard, Rose's glance fell upon the brilliant hair and laughing faces of Fred and George Weasley. She had been thinking to find Minerva McGonagall, but suddenly she knew she had found a better solution. The only other person within immediate hearing range of the Weasleys was their friend, Lee Jordan, who stood at George's elbow, talking animatedly. Rose caught Fred's eye a moment later, and with a swift and meaningful glance at the covered walkway in which she stood, she successfully summoned them to her.

"Hullo, Professor," George said cheerfully. "Want to give us detention? We're bored silly."

"Yeah, we could do with a little manual labor. Keep our physiques up," Fred agreed, grinning at her a bit impertinently.

Rose tried to keep her own smile from becoming a grin. "Good afternoon, gentlemen." After a swift glance around she added, "Have you given any further thought to those acts of mayhem and disruption which you had been contemplating this morning in class?"

"We haven't been thinking about much else," Fred admitted. "Are you here to talk us out of them, then, now Umbridge has assumed the throne?"

"On the contrary," Rose returned. "I had come to see if any of your plans had ripened. I believe that just now would actually be a most advantageous time for some bold act of pandemonium." Stepping slightly closer to them, and keeping her face neutral in case anyone was watching, Rose said casually, "Harry is in her office being interrogated at this moment."

The boys' lanky frames seemed to snap to attention. "Right you are, Professor," said George, as Fred said, "We're on it," in a tone which recalled Ginny's declaration at Christmas precisely.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Rose responded, nodding graciously. "Good luck to you."

She had only just landed on the last stair to the dungeons when the first firework exploded.

* * *

Because the following week was the Easter holiday, Snape had set Harry's Occlumency lesson for Thursday. "That way," he had explained to Rose coolly as they'd walked down from the first dinner after Dumbledore's departure, "There may be some chance of his retaining something of what is communicated to him over the vacation." Rose was bewildered, however, to see Snape striding away from his office alongside Draco Malfoy, just minutes after the lesson had begun. Three-quarters of an hour later, Snape returned, alone. Assuming that the lesson would now be much longer in ending, Rose returned to her marking, only to be interrupted a minute later by the sound of shouting and breaking glass.

She got to her feet and was heading toward her open office door to investigate when Harry came hurtling by. He didn't seem to have any idea of stopping, but Rose called after him. " _Ongles de Morgan,_ Harry, what is the matter?"

He stopped, looking wild with panic. She held open her door and raised her eyebrows at him. After a second's hesitation, he hurried in. "Please close the door," he urged. But she had already done so. After placing an Imperturbable Charm on the door, she turned around to find him running his hand through his hair in agitation.

"What has happened?" She asked again. "What was all that noise about?"

"I— Snape— he's angry. I sort of, accidentally, got into his memories while he was gone. He's furious. Says we're done having lessons. I don't— I don't really blame him, it wasn't a good memory—"

"I'm sorry, but _what?_ " Rose's mouth had fallen open, and she struggled against a flare of temper. "You mean to say that you did to him exactly what he's been doing to you all term and he's _thrown you out of his office_ for it? And is refusing to teach you any further? He is even more of a child than I thought. The hypocrisy—"

"It's really all right." Harry said. He had caught his breath and was by now the calmer of the two. "I wasn't exactly making great strides in Occlumency anyway."

"It doesn't matter! Now that Dumbledore is gone he was the only one who _could_ teach you. What are you supposed to do now, learn from Minerva McGonagall? From _me?_ " She snorted and flung out her hands in a futile gesture. He just looked at her, clearly caught-off guard by the fervor of her response. "And if this is fine with you, why do you look like you're about to vomit slugs?" She shot at him. Despite his lowered voice, Harry still looked clammy and pale.

"I saw my father," he said quietly.

"You saw James? In Snape's memory?" He nodded. "I suppose they were arguing? I understand they were— far from friends…"

"He was a bully."

"Who, Snape? I'm not surprised—"

"No. My father. He was bullying Snape, along with Sirius, they were both doing it. Hexing him for no reason, humiliating him in front of everyone." Harry looked stricken.

"Oh." Rose could not not think of how to reply.

"I mean, my mum stood up for him. For Snape, that is."

"You saw Lily." Rose breathed. She sank into her chair. "How did she— I mean, you'd never seen her so young. I hardly remember it. What was she like?"

"She was all right," he answered. "I mean, she was kind to Snape. She was furious at Dad. She hated him. Why did she marry him?" Harry asked her suddenly.

"Well, she loved him, Harry." Rose answered. When he frowned, she added, "However she felt about him when they were— how old were they, anyway?"

"They were taking their O.W.L.s. They'd have been my age."

"They'd have been sixteen. I was turning six. Or almost; Lily always came home just in time for my birthday parties." She was in a reverie now, but shook herself out of it at the sight of Harry's face. "Harry, I didn't know your father then. I didn't. But when Lily started bringing him round two years later, while I was eight, doing accidental magic all over the place, everyone was struck with how much they were in love. Lily adored James. They teased each other, certainly, and they joked. But I never saw anything but love." Harry was leaning forward, and appeared to be drinking in her words eagerly. So she continued.

"James was always confident. He liked to tease me, and play jokes. Making my teacup float, turning my hair violet, making bubbles come out his nose when I was trying to eat my soup. But he always knew when to stop teasing. I can promise you that he never bullied me. He was— well, he was a brother to me." Rose smiled. On impulse, she stood up and went to her nightstand. From the drawer, she withdrew her worn photo album and set it before him.

"I know you've seen this before," she said, opening to a photo of James holding Harry, with his arm around a ten-year-old Rose. "But, just, you need to bear it in mind. Whoever he was in Snape's memory, he was this person in mine."

The two of them studied the photo for a couple of silent minutes. James' smile was sincere, his hazel eyes crinkled up, his glasses off-kilter. He adjusted them with the arm that was not cradling Harry, who looked around six months old, then kissed the baby's tufty head. Then James looked at Rose, and said something to her which made her laugh merrily. She tilted her head toward him, resting it against his shoulder. James squeezed her skinny shoulders.

After they had watched this sequence repeat itself several times, Harry looked up at Rose. He no longer seemed quite as nauseous as he had been. Still, his expression was profoundly sad. "Thanks," he said.

Then he stood up. "I'd better go. It's late." This was not strictly accurate; he would not usually be finished with his lesson for another half hour at least.

But Rose offered no argument, merely patting his arm and saying, "Good night, then, Harry."

At the door, Harry turned around. "I just hate that this means that Snape was right. Every damn thing he ever said about my father, how he was arrogant, how he was a bully, how he treated other people like scum, all of it, was true." The look on his face made her heart contract, but before she could say what was on her lips to say, that this may not be the full story, that there was so much Harry did not yet know, he had turned and walked out of her office.

* * *

Never before had Rose felt so ready to leave the castle and return to Grimmauld Place as on that last Friday in the first week of April. As that Sunday was Easter, there would be no classes for the full week after. She was not scheduled for corridor duty until Wednesday, so her stay at Grimmauld could be unusually long. _And it's been_ such _a week!_ she mused, as she fastened the latches on her carpet bag. On Monday, she had only been apprehensive about her evaluation meeting with Dumbledore. Now, the school was awash with Educational Decrees and Weasley-branded Catherine Wheels everywhere you looked. Fred and George had promised a lull to the meyhem during the holidays. Still, what with one thing and another, Rose had developed a near-constant throbbing headache. She picked up her bag and stepped out into the hallway, then stopped. Snape's office door had only just shut.

In impulse, despite her eagerness to be on her way, Rose went instead to his door and knocked. "Enter," came his cold voice, and she walked in.

"Severus," she greeted him.

"Miss Evans," was his terse reply.

"It's Rose, Severus." She folded her arms over her chest after setting her carpet bag down.

"Rose," he said. "What is it that you want?"

"I want you to give Harry Occlumency lessons. As you said you would do. As Dumbledore asked you to do," she reminded him.

Snape rolled his eyes and opened his supply cabinet. He began to pull jars off the shelves, placing them on the table at the front of the room one by one as he said, "He has come to the end of what I can teach him. If he has not chosen to put what has been taught to him into practice, well-"

" _Foutaise_ , again, Severus. Do not lie to me, please. He has come to the end of your willingness to teach him. But the need continues. With Dumbledore gone, Harry is even more vulnerable."

"If you are so concerned for him, I wonder that you are so ready to leave," he retorted acidly, nodding at her carpet bag.

She flushed, but straightened her back. "I am not concerned for his physical safety this weekend. You know perfectly well what I fear for him. Voldemort may seek entry into his mind at any time, may try to make use of him. The threat posed by Dolores Umbridge is nothing to that."

"The Dark Lord has made no deliberate attempts to penetrate Potter's mind," Snape scoffed. "His visions continue, but they are accidental forays into the Dark Lord's mind by Potter. And if the Dark Lord had mentioned making use of the boy's mind, well," he stopped with a phial of bluish liquid poised in his hand and looked at Rose meaningfully, "I would know."

"You really think he shares everything that crosses his mind with his Death Eaters?" It was Rose's turn to scoff. "I would put money on it that Harry knows more about what is occupying Voldemort's mind than that sorry lot do. And that is exactly why Harry needs your help. I can do nothing for him in that regard," she said, frustration at this reality seeping into her voice.

Snape had begun pouring the bluish liquid into a bottle that looked identical, except that the level of the blue liquid reached higher. "Even if I had not taught him all I could," he said, "he is a hopeless case. He makes no effort to practice, has made no real progress, and resists at every turn. The experiment is concluded," he declared, a quelling scowl on his face as he looked up from the now-full phial.

"Because you can't stand knowing that he saw his teenage father bully you?" Rose dared to say. "Really? You prod through his worst, most humiliating memories all term, and one bad memory of yours ends the 'experiment?'" Scorn dripped from her words, now. "It is time you put the past in the past. James can't hurt you anymore. Voldemort has seen to that."

Snape took a shaking breath. Rose realized with some alarm that he was struggling against a terrible rage that made his eyes blaze and his cheeks go even paler than before. For several long seconds, they stared at each other, Snape livid, Rose defiant. When he spoke, however, it was in carefully measured words which she could never have expected him to say. "You should use my fire."

"I'm sorry?" Rose asked, perplexed.

"If you're going to go to London. Don't be seen walking to Hogsmeade. You'd be a fool to let her see you go." He was still standing rigidly, his hands gripping the table, but his voice was even.

"I always walk to Hogsmeade. I've been doing it all year." She quite enjoyed the exertion of the walk; it offered her a transitional time to clear her head between the two homes. "Surely it will seem more suspicious if I go by fire this time?"

"As you say, Dumbledore is gone. Everyone suspected of being one of his allies is being watched. Do you really think she would not attempt to follow you? It seems to me," he sneered, allowing some of his anger to pierce his inflection, "you do not know where the true danger lies. All that it would take would be for someone she has tipped off to ambush you while you were Apparating, and that person would be brought with you, inside the protection of the Fidelius charm. We would need to find a new headquarters, all because you fancied a visit with a criminal and his friend, the werewolf." He was positively spitting with wrath, now.

Rose refused to be cowed, but stood straighter than ever and narrowed her eyes. "Very well," she said coldly. "I shall make use of your fire. But Sirius is not expecting it; will he need a warning?"

"Somehow I doubt that he will mind the surprise." Snape wiped his hands on his robes, fetched a dusty copper bowl from the mantel, and handed it to her.

Rose said the chilliest "Thank you," that she could utter. Then she gripped her carpet bag, took a pinch of the powder, and pronounced "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," before disappearing into the flames.

When she stepped into the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, Rose took a moment to breathe away her irritation as she brushed the mingled ash and Floo Powder from her robe. She could hear Sirius creaking down the hall hurriedly, but she did not move to meet him until he was clamoring down the stairs. She could still see Severus' pale face and snapping black eyes in her mind's eye, still hear his accusations. _I'm not abandoning Harry_ , she assured herself, as she turned to smile at Sirius. _I'm just refusing to abandon Sirius._

"Trying to keep me on my toes, _Mademoiselle?_ " Sirius asked teasingly. "This is neither your usual time nor your usual place." He embraced her without waiting for an answer. For a moment, she merely reveled in the feeling of his arms around her, allowing her disquiet to fall away. Sirius brushed some ash from her face with his thumb, and she smiled into his eyes.

" _Tu m'as manqué,_ "1 she breathed, and he returned, " _J'ai eu bien pire surprises_ ,"2 just before their lips met.

With her head against Sirius' chest, and his hand gently massaging her back, Rose's fatigue, her headache, her worry left, accompanying with her deep exhalation. Then she said, with her eyes closed, "It was Severus."

"What did Snivellus do?" Sirius asked, with exaggerated concern. "I shall defend you from the nasty git. Which vengeance shall I take?"

"He suggested that I use his fire, rather than walking to Hogsmeade. He pointed out that Umbridge is probably prepared to follow me, and may be willing to waylay me during Apparition. That is why I took the Floo, because of Severus."

"Well." Sirius looked reluctantly impressed. "That's… very decent of him." He smirked and added, "I wonder what his angle is?"

"I don't think he had one," Rose replied. "I had just quarreled with him." As soon as she said it, she wished it unsaid. She was not interested in relating to Sirius that Snape had stopped giving Harry Occlumency lessons. She could easily imagine that such an outrage would, in his mind, justify a visit to Hogwarts to exact some sort of revenge.

"What were you quarreling over?" His grey eyes found hers. She forced a smile.

"Harry, of course. And you. What else? Severus thinks I'd better stay at Hogwarts, now Dumbledore's gone, to look after Harry. And he had took a swipe at you." She put her arms around him again, and his encircled her shoulders. "I gave him quite a philippic, I'm afraid. But he held off from responding in kind. He just told me to use his fire if I insisted on going."

"The old man's growing up," Sirius mused, releasing her and picking up her carpet bag to bring it upstairs. "I'm almost disappointed in him."

They passed an enjoyable enough evening, for all Rose's exhaustion. Sirius had prepared a stew, and there was some bread to toast, and plenty of wine. As she watched him put the food on the table, the wine softening the edges of her vision comfortably, Rose suddenly asked, "Have you really not seen Kreacher since Christmas?"

"I really haven't," he replied, cheerfully. "Now, ask me if I miss him."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't you find it rather ominous? Who might he have taken up with?"

"It doesn't actually matter, as I see it." Sirius sat down in his accustomed spot, just around the corner from Rose, and pulled his chair. "I gave him enough direct orders last summer that he shouldn't be able to tell anyone anything of importance. I swore him to secrecy about Headquarters' location, all Order business, my whereabouts, everything. Butter?" he asked, passing her the dish.

Over dinner, they discussed the events of the past week. "I really thought I'd gotten through to Dumbledore," Rose said, shaking her head. "And now he's gone. Has he been by here?"

Sirius wiped his mouth with his napkin. "He sent his Patronus, just keeping me informed. The Order meets on Saturday; he plans to be there, at least at first."

"You know," Rose mused as she folded her napkin and placed it to the left of her plate, "It really is a liability for me to be unable to cast a Patronus. I can't send messages to Order members. I really must resume my study. I just found it so demoralizing."

"Perhaps you'll be able to, now. It may be that you are happier than you were last year. Or do I flatter myself?" He grinned.

"Severus said it wasn't about the degree of happiness, but the ability to focus on it," Rose recalled, ignoring his obvious ploy for a compliment. "I'll ask Mooney to help me tomorrow."

"Or, we can give it a go tonight," Sirius suggested.

And they did, lying on their backs on Rose's bed after dinner, their wands pointed at the ceiling. Sirius' left arm was behind his head, while his right arm directed his Patronus as it galloped about the room. Rose shut her eyes and breathed deeply, concentrating on the memory of the moment, on the day after his birthday, when Sirius had begun to kiss her back. She smiled involuntarily, and made the required spiral motion with her wand. " _Expecto Patronum._ "

A little puff of silver vapor came from her wand. "Have you done that before?" Sirius asked, eagerly.

"Once," she admitted. "But that's as far as it's ever gotten. Still, it's encouraging."

"Try again," he urged.

Rose focused this time on the memory of the two of them in bed, naked under the sheets, laughing in the morning sun. She visualized the sun warming her whole body, the light filling her, and this reminded her of the way she had felt at Christmas. She shifted to imagining Sirius' bow, and the twinkle in his eye before they had begun to dance at the Christmas party. " _Expecto Patronum,"_ she whispered. A silvery something emerged and soared around the room. Once or twice she thought she could make out a wing, but it never took a very definite shape.

"I've never seen that before!" she told him excitedly. "I think it's a bird!"

"Bet it's a white peacock," he suggested, and laughed as she pummeled him. "What did you think about, _Mademoiselle?_ " he asked, rolling onto his stomach and extinguishing his Patronus with a flick of his wand.

"What do you think I thought about?" she asked, giving him a coy look.

Sirius put his wand down on the bedside table and embraced her. He gave her a long kiss, and after they broke apart, she put her wand down too. They gazed into each other's eyes, green into grey, and then Sirius reached for her. "Let's make a memory, Rose." he said. "Let's make a marvelous memory, shall we?"

1 "I have missed you."

2 "I have had far worse surprises."


	26. Third Flower Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Starlight

 **A.N. Many apologies for my lapse in posting last week. I've got a temp job now that's taking up a good deal of my writing time. It may take more than a week before the next chapter posts too. Thank you for your patience!**

 _I've paid my dues / Time after time / I've done my sentence / But committed no crime.1_

The music was at a volume to fill the musty room. Even the layers of Gryffindor tapestries, pennants, and flags could not absorb it. Sirius liked to feel the bass and the drums in his bones. He lay sprawled on his bed, arms behind his head, and stared at the moving pictures of James, Lily, Peter, Remus, and himself in seventh year, grinning, arms around each other. _That was the best year, the seventh_ , he mused. _We all had our transformations down, so every full moon was a lark. The war was still in the background of our lives._ And Lily had become the unofficial fifth Marauder that year. She had finally given in to James' persuasion and agreed to be his girlfriend, so James was no longer twitchy and distracted on the grounds, in corridors, in the Great Hall, or really anytime there was a chance she might be around. But because they were all still in school, and still obligated to sleep in the dormitories, there was no immediate danger of her marrying him and breaking up the fellowship. _After Yoko, but before the band broke up_ , he thought fondly, nodding to himself. Seventh year.

 _We are the champions, my friends / And we'll keep on fighting till the end.2_

They had played this song on Sirius' tricked-up record player in the Gryffindor Common Room after the final match of the season. Gryffindor'd won spectacularly, of course, and with that win, had cinched the Quidditch House Cup. James had flown like a god. The rain began halfway through the game; everyone was drenched by the time the Snitch was caught. James had leaped off his broomstick before it had even stopped moving and dashed across the pitch to Lily. He'd tossed her up in the air, then spun her around and kissed her soundly, to great applause from the soaked crowd in the Gryffindor stands. It was the first time they'd kissed in public.

Sirius had had to accept that Lily was here to stay, then. Not that he'd disliked her. _Nobody could dislike Lily._ Funny, brave, more bitingly sarcastic even than Remus, and yet, so kind. Ever since she'd found out about Sirius' family, after he'd run away to live with James, she'd refused to take the bait and argue with him when he was in one of his foul moods; instead, she'd act as if he was joking, even when he wasn't, even when he was sparking with aggression, expiring for an argument with someone, anyone, she'd just laugh and rub his head in that irresistibly soothing way she had ( _Rose is the only one who can equal it_ ). And Lily was the only woman who he'd ever taken on his flying motorbike. Even Marlene wouldn't go near it. But Lily had whooped and shouted with delight on the afternoon that he'd taken her, vivid hair whipping around both of their faces, freckled hands gripping themselves at his waist. He had felt so free that day.

Sirius wondered, as "Sheer Heart Attack" began to play, if Rose would ever ride the motorbike with him. He suspected that she'd take more persuading than Lily had. Lily was all fire. Rose had fire, of course, but hers was a slow burn. She was reluctant to spark off. He supposed it was for the best; he himself was never reluctant to ignite. Besides, Sirius couldn't imagine Lily surviving Hogwarts under Dolores Umbridge. _Rosey has all those underhanded, sly little ways with her_ , he thought. _Lily would have hexed herself out of a job by now._

But Rose could rise to things. He expected he could get her on the motorbike in the end. _She's already promised to sail the Channel, after all._ It seemed to him that it would be as great an achievement to get Rose behind him on the bike as to get her on a sailboat. For a minute or two, he indulged in a fantasy of her firm body behind him, gripping his waist as Lily had done, her fair hair in the same wild disarray. Would she whoop and holler, as Lily had done? More likely, she'd be releasing a steady stream of French curses in his ear. From excitement, he hoped. It thrilled him to imagine overcoming her usual composure, her prim, orderly hair, and her fashionable robes with some adventure or other. He still had trouble, sometimes, believing that he'd seen her with her hair down, much less without her robes… and this thought caused his mind to wander.

The piano chords of "All Dead, All Dead" were gliding over his mind as he imagined her skin, smooth under his hands, her curls over her breasts, as they had been when they were last in her bed together in the Blue Room. He could see her eyes, daring him to touch her… her warm mouth under his. She smelt of soap, and, faintly of lavender…

He shook his head to clear it. There would be time enough for that when she arrived. He expected her in two hours, perhaps three.

 _Her ways are always with me / I wander all the while / But please you must forgive me / I am old but still a child.3_

 _Rosey_. As he often did, Sirius asked himself if he'd be as in love with her as he was were he not a prisoner in his own house, and had he not been without a woman's touch for twelve long years. He hated to think of himself being able to be indifferent to Rose Evans, even in some reality in which he was free, still in possession of his old good looks, prosperous, a version of himself who had never known Azkaban. _I had a chance with Hestia Jones at Christmas,_ he reminded himself. She had been very interested. They had spoken at the Order's party, and she, very interested in his stories, had tittered at his jokes in a most accommodating way. _But I didn't take the bait. I didn't get up to my old tricks this time_. He was comforted to think that he really was capable of breaking his habits for a woman like this. _I'll show Mooney_ , he promised himself. _I mean what I say when it comes to her_.

Sirius' mind drifted to the day he'd first seen Rose Evans again after Azkaban, in her tidy, tailored, blue robes and fussy little hat. She looked like someone who'd never known hardship in her life, but she was also astonishingly beautiful to him. Seeing her in that cave, after months of hard living in the wild and years in his cell, he could hardly bear to look at her. She had seemed to shine.

 _I used to pull girls like that_ , he thought to himself, _all the time._ But not since Azkaban. He had been angry, that day in the cave, angry because not only had she not been far away in France, being glamorous and not looking after Harry, but because she got to be so clean and happy and well-fed and well-traveled. She had looked at him then with eyes that seemed to look from the past, but she also put him in mind of that other present which he thought about constantly, that present which he did not occupy, in which he was also flourishing and well-traveled and happy. She reminded him of everything he didn't get to have now.

But a curious thing had happened, which was that as she spoke to him in the cave after the others had left, unafraid to meet his angry gaze, honesty blaring from her wide green eyes: he felt her becoming real. He recognized her as a person of the real present, occupying a shared reality with him. And when she had come to Grimmauld Place and had taken Kreacher so firmly in hand, had confided in him, had made him her friend, he had begun to know his danger. What his heart had done when she'd kissed him that first time! It was too good, "too flattering sweet to be substantial,"4 yes, Shakespeare had it right as always. And yet it was true: she gave every sign of being as in love with him as he had begun to be with her.

Did she know she was the only thing keeping him sane? Sirius hoped not. He did not like to think of her seeing him as dependent, though he was, desperately so. He did not like to feel so vulnerable, like a caged pet she could visit whenever she liked. He remembered the day when he realized that she was holding him together, keeping his his mind clear despite the new variety of Dementors in his new prison at Grimmauld Place. They had been sitting in an Order of the Phoenix meeting in January, and Rose had been sitting across from him, a bit to his right. Severus Snape was presenting his report, describing the last meeting of the Death Eaters he'd attended. He'd droned on in that contemptuous way he had about the "Dark Lord's" (Sirius chuffed like a dog at this memory; no one who was serious about fighting Voldemort had any business calling him "The Dark Lord," _whatever Dumbledore thinks of it!_ ) single-minded focus on obtaining the Prophecy. After relating the various ideas for laying hands on the Prophecy which the Death Eaters had been considering, Snape had finally concluded by saying, "I hope that this information can be useful. We all have our part to play, of course. I am sure we are all grateful for Mr. Black's brave execution of his own part. He keeps the hearth fires lit most admirably," he had said, glancing at Sirius with a sneer.

And that hot, boiling wrath had charged Sirius' limbs again. He'd felt his extremities stiffen, and he'd squirmed in his chair and opened his mouth, ready to fire back at Snivellus, _the slimy Slytherin git,_ Mooney's warning hand on his elbow notwithstanding, _Dammit_ , _I'm a_ _Marauder!_ when he felt rather than saw Rose's eyes upon him. When he'd looked at them, their green had seemed very cool, like a forest glade in an autumn rain. Her expression was full of understanding, but also a gentle, pacific appeal. _I know_ , her look seemed to say, and Sirius felt the urgency of his anger leave him. He could feel the last of it drain out of his fingertips as she gave him a very small smile, then returned her attention to Mad-Eye, who had cleared his throat and begun to respond to Snape's report.

And that was when he knew. He knew that if he was to survive this war, if he was to do as they had all asked of him and remain at Headquarters, if he was to avoid taking unnecessary risks and charging Death itself in his frustration, it would be all due to her. Rose Evans and her elegant little ways, her clear laugh, her occasional outbursts of defiance, the very slight cleft in her chin which became more pronounced when she was angry or determined, the way that she always seemed to _see him_ , had done the job by then. Rose Evans was his lifeline.

Sirius shifted on his bed. An uncomfortable sensation had been coming over him for some time now. He wanted- something. _What?_ He asked his body. He was quite used to wanting; it was how he spent most of his waking minutes. But this felt more urgent. _What is it I want?_ I want to go outside, he answered himself. I want to feel the sun on my face. I want to run, I want to go to some public place and talk in a loud voice. I want to climb a tree. I want to jump into water fully clothed. I want sex. _Yes, yes. But I always want those things. What do I want_ now?And his stomach gave an obliging murmur. Food. He wanted food. He'd forgotten to eat lunch again. And with Rose arriving in less than two hours, he'd better get to fixing dinner.

Kreacher seemed to have finally abandoned the larder. For a while after his disappearance, the stocks had been replenished with food as always. But sometime in March, even that stopped. _Maybe he really has died,_ Sirius speculated hopefully. _What a relief it'd be to finally find his body and put the whole sodding thing to rest._ Because what he couldn't tell Rose, what he wouldn't tell anyone (James had known), was that Kreacher had been a witness to the beatings his father had given him, the jinxes his mother had placed upon his as punishment, the way they'd hurt him in front of Regulus, in an effort to deter Regulus from following Sirius' example. The time he'd stood in blocks of magically maintained green ice, shivering at the top of the stairs while the rest of the family ate dinner; the time he'd been locked in the closet for five hours for taking Muggle Studies; the time his father had hit him so hard and so often in his room that even his mother, her lip curling, finally intervened. Kreacher was the only living person besides Remus who knew all that had happened in this house. And every sneer on the elf's hoary face had been a reminder of that fact. _No,_ Sirius thought, shaking his head as he browned the meat that Tonks had brought days ago, _I won't cry one tear for Kreacher. I hope he's good and rotting by now_.

Sirius chopped the onions very fine, the potatoes into thick wedges, and threw them into a pan to sauté, along with some garlic, butter, and salt, exactly as he knew Rose liked them cooked. _She'll need a solid meal,_ he reminded himself. She was always tired after a long week of teaching, of course, but since the departure of Dumbledore, she looked more drawn each time she came to visit. Hogwarts seemed to have become a war zone. Sirius ached to be a part of it all, at the center of the uprising. It hardly seemed fair that here he was, spoiling for a fight, and he was stuck "keeping the hearth fires lit" (he chopped the parsley with aggression as this phrase stole across his mind), while Rosey had to wear herself out.

By the time he heard the sound of her stepping out of the fire in the drawing room, the meat and potatoes were finished. He had even picked out the few green beans which were still edible from the larder and had heated them with butter. " _Ça sent délicieux_ ,5 Paddy!" her voice called out, and he quickly dried his hands, turned off the heat from the stove and strode into the drawing room.

" _Tout pour toi, ma reine_ ,"6 he answered. He tried to sound arch and teasing, but he could not keep a genuine smile from his face at the sight of her. Her fair hair was nearly as impeccable as usual, though there was ash at her forehead, and one lock had come loose in the back, having perhaps been caught on something in the fireplace. She wore a light outer cloak over form-fitting robes that were almost coral. Her eyes sparkled at him as he strode over to her and embraced her, kissing the tiny mole on her temple before tucking her head under his chin. They stood like this for almost a minute. Sirius often felt that they were keeping each other warm in this world.

"You took Snivellus' fire again?" He asked, his mouth against her hair.

"Severus was so kind as to insist," she answered dryly. "Apparently he's had free use of his fire all year, thanks to his special status in his work with the Death Eaters."

"I'd really love to know how he got to be so chummy with Dumbledore," Sirius grumbled. "And why, if they are such bosom friends, Dumbledore hasn't been able to rub off on Snivellus in the form of improved hygiene habits."

They sat, as usual, around the corner from one another, their feet touching, an informal arrangement that would have horrified his mother and his aunts. As they ate, Rose told him the whole story of Fred and George's departure from the school, which had happened weeks ago but which Sirius had only heard described by people who had not been present at the scene.

"Oh, but it was glorious, Paddy," she said, her eyes staring fondly into the distance. "She had them cornered, and Filch was there, threatening to whip them, the whole school crammed into the entrance hall. But those marvelous boys, my students, I remind you, just summoned their brooms, cool as you please, and soared away. But, not before offering discounts on their joke supplies to anyone who'd use them against Dolores Umbridge. It was such spectacular audacity, _cher_ , you would have adored them."

"As a Marauder, I salute them. I have approved of Fred and George Weasley since they began listening at the door during Order meetings with those ears-on-strings of theirs. That was cheek," he remembered, chuckling.

"You are kindred spirits," Rose observed. She sipped her wine, then swallowed suddenly and added, "Oh and do you know? Peeves actually _saluted_ them! And he's been nothing but a thorn in Umbridge's side since those boys left. They've left behind a valuable legacy of civil disobedience at Hogwarts, I must say. But I miss them. Perhaps I may owl them from here, so as to convey my admiration?"

"And to order some Dungbombs to lob at Umbridge? Use my owl and my galleons, please. I'd offer to become their patron, but they seem quite prosperous already." He finished his own wine, and asked, "Are you bearing up, then, _Mademoiselle_?"

"I'm very well, thank you. I caught a glimpse of the sun today! In Scotland. Can you imagine?" She raised her eyebrows at him. All he could do was smile at her, his contentment curling around him like a sleeping cat.

Upstairs, they moved slowly, talking and teasing gently, both knowing what they wanted to do, but anxious to draw it out as long as possible. As she was taking her hair out of its usual elaborate series of pins, Rose suddenly frowned. "Paddy? What is this?" She was holding the small, round two-way mirror.

"Harry's got the other one," he replied. "I gave it to him at Christmas. It's a two-way. If he wants to get in touch with me, he just has to say my name into it, and I'll hear it loud and clear." He hesitated, not wanting to sound as if he were complaining. Then he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "He's never used it."

"I don't imagine he will," she said thoughtfully. When he looked questioningly at her, she continued, "He's worried about you, Paddy. I expect he just doesn't want you to be tempted to leave the house."

He scowled, and she sat down next to him on the bed, looking amused. "He loves you too much to use it. Not too little." She put her arm around him and suggested, "Why don't you write him another letter? He loves to hear from you. Look!" She stood and went to her carpet bag, withdrawing an envelope from a pocket within it. "He's written you."

He took the letter and skimmed it in a cursory way; there would be time for a more careful read tomorrow, before he sent his response. Harry also told the story of Fred and George's departure, and he went into detail about the mischief other students had got up to in the wake of it. "Brilliant," Sirius said, grinning appreciatively. "Someone's put a niffler in her office. And- oh, excellent. They've put a Slytherin in a Vanishing Cabinet and no one can get him out."

"Poor Montague," said Rose, shaking her head. "It is a rather horrible fate, isn't it? Even for one of Umbridge's little toadies."

"I'm sure he deserved it. Fred and George don't afflict the undeserving." He put the letter aside, still grinning. "And what about you? Still have a job, then?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, stepping out of her shoes and slipping off her stockings with a sigh of relief. "Yes, she's far too busy coping with the dungbombs and niffler attacks and hexes on her Inquisitorial Squad to proceed with my probation. I am confident I shall outlast her at Hogwarts."

Sirius settled back into the bed and watched her undress. He still could not believe the ease with which she had fallen into undressing in front of him that spring. She was not doing it self-consciously, or with any apparent intention to titillate. Still, she caught him looking when she was down to her slip and grinned at him cheekily. "Shall I stop there?"

"Oh please, don't," he begged, and she laughed. Suddenly the sight of her, luminous in this miserable old house, was just too delightful. He got out of bed and pressed her to him, kissing her warm, willing mouth. He could feel her kissing him back hungrily, and he wrapped his arms more tightly around the smooth skin of her body.

And all talking ceased, then. Sirius applied his lips to her neck, drifting downward teasingly in the way he knew she liked. Rose's eyes were closed, and he marveled again that she was allowing this, that she wanted him. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and shook his head slightly at what he saw. He looked less gaunt than he had done a year ago, when he was living on rats and rabbits and stolen food, but his face was still lined, his eyes still shadowed. The muscular body he had had before Azkaban had deteriorated significantly. But Rose sighed eloquently as he resumed kissing her shoulders, inching his way slowly to her breasts. She wanted this, wanted him, and he was only too glad to oblige.

On the bed, Sirius quickly found his earlier daydream coming true. He needed less encouragement than before to touch her, even in the most intimate places. A warm haze of pleasure settled over him as she responded to his touch. Suddenly she sat up, a strange glint in her eyes, and began to kiss his body, down, down, and he felt his eyes widen as her mouth arrived. He had not felt this sensation in so long, and it was bliss, and his mind was all light, and his body had just become weightless as she made her way back up to his face. She had a coy smile on her face as she settled herself on him and began to move. Their bodies sang as they moved together, their joy in each other seeming boundless. He made sure to bring her to the peak of pleasure first, before he joined her with a gasp and a shout. And then they were holding each other, drowsy, flushed, and love-drunk.

They talked of small things once their breathing had returned to normal. The last Order meeting, the food at Hogwarts, the success of Harry's article in _The Quibbler_ , and exactly what substance Peeves was made of.

"He's a ghost. Ghosts are made of… you know, luminous, airy..." Rose shook her head, apparently unable to finish the sentence.

"He's not a proper ghost, though," Sirius insisted. "I mean, you can't walk through him, can you? And he can grab hold of things that ghosts' hands pass right through."

"True," she conceded. "But he's not made of flesh and bones; he can't be. Perhaps a poltergeist is like a more concentrated ghost?"

"He's got polter-bones," said Sirius, with a stubborn shake of his head. "And polter-muscle. He's kicked me in the head enough times; I should know."

"I'm sure you thoroughly deserved it," she said, drowsily. Abruptly, she rolled off of him and padded to the bathroom. Sirius, who was prepared for her to do this by now, merely rolled over to accommodate her when she returned to bed. They held each other and talked more quietly of Harry, of Dumbledore's movements, of Remus and Tonks and their obvious interest in each other, and of what fate Dolores Umbridge would be likely to meet at the conclusion of the year. But at last, Rose's weariness overcame her. Unlike Sirius, she had not spent hours of the day lying in bed, daydreaming.

He kissed her goodnight when he saw her eyelids drooping, and she smiled. "Goodnight, Paddy," she said, in a thick voice. "I love you." She was asleep within a minute.

Sirius' eyes, however, did not close for a very long time that night.

* * *

He was awakened by the sound of Remus at the front door. He sat up and quickly slid out of bed. Rose stirred, and said sleepily, " _Est-ce putain matin encore?"7_

" _J'ai bien peur,_ "8 he replied. "But there's no need for you to get up, _ma reine_. Why don't you have a lie-in?"

"I think I will," she agreed, and rolled over. Sirius had his trousers and dressing gown on in twenty seconds and was down the stairs opening the door in thirty.

"Sorry old man, I'd forgotten you were dropping by so early. So you had the second shift this time? Want some tea?"

"Yes, and yes," Remus answered, smiling tiredly as Sirius clapped him on the back. "Have you got any bacon?"

Sirius was pleased to find that he did have bacon left. He whistled as he fried it, the edges curling delectably, the steam filling both their nostrils with pungent saltiness. Remus sat at the small kitchen table and blearily read the paper over his tea. "Where's Rosey?" he asked.

"In her bed, having a well-deserved lie-in." Sirius lowered the heat on the stove and set to making the coffee.

"And where did you sleep?" Remus raised his eyebrows.

"In her bed too, as she requested." Sirius could not keep a trace of smugness from his voice.

"Mmmm." Sirius was not looking at Remus now, as the bacon had demanded his attention, but he could feel him shake his head disapprovingly.

"Oh, Mooney, lay off, why don't you. Go get yourself a bird, and let me have mine."

"I just hope you're thinking this through. She's not going to sink into obscurity if you ever end things with her. She's Harry's aunt, Tonks' friend, dedicated to the Order. You'll be seeing a lot of her, however things shake out between you, you know."

Sirius lifted the last of the bacon out of the pan and onto a plate, turned off the stove, and addressed Remus' earnest face. "I'm not going to end things with her," he said. He was surprised at the resolution in his own voice. Still, he continued, without hesitation, "I'm mad about her, Moons. First chance I get, I'm marrying her." He turned back to the coffee so that he did not have to look at Remus' open-mouthed stare for more than a moment.

"Did I just hear the M-word coming out of the mouth of the great Sirius Black?" Remus' voice was smiling through his amazement.

"We all have to grow up sometime, you know," Sirius said, sounding more irritable than he intended as he strained his coffee. "You ought to try it."

"I'm not marriage material, and you know it, Pads. But even that eventuality seems less astonishing than the words that just came out of your mouth. Sirius Black! The man who once said that marriage is 'the greatest brutality which the civilized world has ever invented!' Who has had multiple relationships which lasted no longer than the duration of a broom-closet shag! Who told James at his stag party to, and I quote, 'Drink up, Prongs, for your doom is nigh.' _This_ Sirius Black, I am to believe, is considering voluntarily surrendering his bachelorhood for a mere, singular, _woman_?" Remus grinned and ducked to be out of the reach of the towel Sirius had swung at him.

Once again, Sirius found himself reaching for Shakespeare. "'When I said I would die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were married,'"9 he quoted. "But it's not as though I can follow through anytime soon. Legally, I'm as good as dead," he remarked, bitterly.

"Well, don't count on that state of things to prevent your having to follow through on it when once you ask her, Sirius," Remus admonished him, suddenly looking stern. "You've still got to mean it. Have you told her?"

"I haven't," he admitted. "I will soon," he said quickly, at the small snort from Remus. "I just haven't worked out how. You know, I can't really make a grand gesture in this house, and anyway, it couldn't be a real engagement. I feel rather a prat I can't make her a real offer, to tell you the truth. It isn't doing right by her, promising something I'm not free to give."

"Rosey understands that," Remus said, reaching out to grip Sirius' forearm. "Just be honest with her. She loves you; that much is obvious. Though how she came to be in such a state of frothing derangement as to concede to share a bed with you, I'll never know."

"Sure you didn't bite her?" Sirius asked, earning himself a firm cuff on the shoulder.

Remus stayed until nearly eleven o'clock, at which time Rose descended the stairs, wrapped in her dressing gown and yawning. Finding Sirius and Remus near the front door, she smiled blurrily at Remus and kissed his cheek. "Mooney. How lovely. Have you eaten?"

"Good morning, Rosey," he greeted her warmly. "I ate like a minor lord, thank you. Did you sleep well?"

"Better than I have in days," she answered. "But now I've slept through your visit!" She looked genuinely disappointed, and Sirius smiled to himself at her fondness for his friend.

"Oh, but I'll see you at the meeting tonight. I've just got a few things to do before then." Remus shook her hand and took his leave. Rose watched him go a bit dazedly, and then turned to Sirius. "You know, I might just try some of that pestilential coffee of yours today. My head is all wooly. It was a delicious sleep, though, Paddy. Thank you."

"I'm glad to see you get your rest," was all Sirius said. His response was so bare of his usual teasing that he was surprised Rose did not remark upon it. She appeared to be too sleepy to notice anything unusual in his answer, however, and she happily leaned on his shoulder as they went into the kitchen toward what was left of the bacon.

After a breakfast that was so late it served as lunch, the two of them cleaned the kitchen. Sirius had never been much of a domestic. James was the neat one. Sirius used to drive him into a frenzy during the months in which they shared a flat with his neglect of the dishes, the laundry, and the tidying up. "I make up for it in spades by cooking like a house elf gourmet!" Sirius used to insist, whenever James was on a tirade about the state of things in their flat. It had gotten so bad that Lily refused to darken their door for a solid month, insisting that all visitors come to the flat she shared with Marlene instead (Marlene, for her part, was indifferent to the mess). But when Rose rolled up her pretty sleeves, Sirius always found himself joining in the washing up enthusiastically. As he dried and put away the wet dishes she handed him, as he admired the way the hot water flushed her cheeks and frizzed her hair, he fell into a familiar daydream. The two of them were married, in a flat of their own, far from Grimmauld Place, possibly in Paris. The war was over, Harry had a bedroom of his own there, he was free, and a world full of people and noise and adventures was wide open to them. If he kept his eyes on Rose and ignored the horribly familiar surroundings, he could almost believe it to be real.

When they left the kitchen, looking as clean and as shining as its age and decrepitude would allow, they went up to the Blue Room, Rose having expressed a desire to be properly dressed, for at least part of the day. Sirius watched her happily as she put on a set of blue linen robes and arranged her hair, rather more simply than usual. In the drawing room, Rose sat down to the piano, put an unfamiliar piece of music in front of her, and astonished him by playing the opening bars of Queen's "Somebody to Love." Pausing to look over her shoulder, she told him, "I found the sheet music in a shop last month. I've been practicing on Flitwick's."

Sirius threw himself onto the sofa in a gesture of ecstasy. " _Mademoiselle_ , I am overcome! You spoil me!" he shouted, as she continued to play. Flat on his back, Sirius found his tenor and sang out to her accompaniment.

 _Each morning I get up I die a little, can barely stand on my feet. Take a look in the mirror and cry, Lord, what you're doing to me!10_

He got up before the guitar solo would normally begin, miming and vocalizing the sound of it. He felt like a teenager, but he didn't care. He felt old enough every other day of the month.

When the song had concluded, Rose cast her eyes on the family tapestry and walked over to it. "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," she read blithely. "Where is your burn mark? Ah, there it is," she pointed before he could respond. She went quiet for a moment, then said, "Tell me about Regulus, Paddy."

He joined her in gazing at the woven story of his family on the wall. "He was two years younger than me. Started Hogwarts when I was in my third year. He was all right, before he got there. I mean, to me, anyway. Used to play Gobstones with me in the attic, make fun of our Deportment Instructor with me, sneak me food when I was on punishment. But he followed all their mad rules. Never once questioned all the rot they filled our ears with, blood purity, contempt for Muggle-borns and blood traitors, unalloyed hatred for Muggles. He took it all in," and he heard the disgust that his voice always held when he dwelled on the subject of his brother. "Joined the Death Eaters while he was still at school. In Slytherin House, it wasn't much of a choice. Avery and Mulciber and the other zealots would make your life hell if you tried to be neutral on the question of Voldemort. They got Snape early on, too," he added, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Did you love him?" she asked quietly, her expression grave. Then- "Regulus, I mean," she clarified.

"I did," he said, heavily. "And I was a fool, because I actually thought I was getting through to him toward the end. But he didn't go to Dumbledore like I told him to do. And then he was dead." Rose put her arm around him silently, and they stood there, each deep in their own thoughts. After a minute, Sirius said, "Rosey? Come upstairs with me, won't you? I want to show you something."

Sirius led her into his own room, hoping that she would not find the mess offensive. She stood in the middle of the room while he located the thing he wanted in his desk. He clenched it tightly in his hand and beckoned for to sit with him on the bed.

" _Mademoiselle-_ Rose," he corrected, trying to convey his sincerity with every word. "I haven't spoken, because I feel like a wretch. I'm a wanted criminal, worse than dead in the Ministry's eyes. I can't leave the house, much less get a marriage license. But," and here he took her hand with the hand which was not clenching his treasure, "Rose, I love you."

It was the first time he had said it. Her eyes widened, but she continued to listen silently, returning the pressure on his hand.

"I love you," he said again, "And I ought to have said at least that much before. Because I do, I can't believe how much I love you. You-" he found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words, "I," he began again, "never thought to find someone who would make me say what I'm trying to say. You illuminate my life. You're a work of art, _mon coeur_ , and more than that, you're brave, and you're loyal, and you're kind. I feel I can stop drinking myself to sleep, I can keep house, I can behave myself at home, I could _almost_ give up hating Snivellous," she laughed at this, "For you. You are my friend, and my love. And even though I'm a worthless beggar, and I can't make good on it until my name is cleared, I want- I would love to marry you. If that's what you want. And I want-" and here he opened his fist and dropped the content into her smaller hand, "I want you to have this."

The ring was of a dark silver. Diamonds flanked a sapphire that was so dark blue it was almost black, and a filigree pattern went all round the ring. It was very heavy.

"It belonged to my Great Aunt Cedrella. Another blast mark on the tapestry; she married a Weasley. She was all right. A Ravenclaw, if you can believe it. But, it's my promise, Rose. As soon as I have the power, as soon as I have what is mine by law- well, it's yours. I'm. Yours," he finished, a bit haltingly, looking into her eyes, which were still examining the ring solemnly.

He held his breath as she continued to stare at the ring. Then, slowly, she brought her brilliant eyes to meet his, and could see that they were filled with tears, which nevertheless did not spill over. She did not break their gaze, but with a gentle and deliberate gesture, she slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.

Sirius let out his breath and embraced her, a bit roughly, pressing her to his heart. He knew there were tears in his eyes too.

"I'll have to keep it on a chain when I'm at Hogwarts," she said, when they broke apart. He nodded to show that he understood; of course, she could not attract questions, especially with Umbridge at the helm of the place. She held the hand which wore the ring up to her chest. "It will be closer to my heart there, anyway," she whispered.

He did not think they had yet had a kiss which lasted as long as one which followed these words.

1 "We Are The Champions," _News of The World,_ Queen

2 "We Are The Champions," _News of The World,_ Queen

3 "All Dead, All Dead," _News of the World_ , Queen.

4 From _Romeo and Juliet,_ 2.2

5 "That smells delicious!"

6 "Everything for you, my queen."

7 "Is it fucking morning again?"

8 "I'm afraid so."

9 From _Much Ado About Nothing,_ 2.3

10 "Somebody to Love," _A Day at the Races_ , Queen.


	27. Third Flower Chapter 28

**Chapter 28: Picked**

 **A.N. Pottermore and many other sources claim the date for The Battle of the Department of Mysteries to be June 18th. But OOTP makes it clear that Harry's History of Magic O.W.L. took place on a Thursday, and June 18th was a Tuesday in 1996. Therefore I am placing the events in this chapter on Thursday, June 20th, 1996.**

 **Which just so happens to be today's date, though 26 years later.**

 **Valar Morghulis.**

Rose pushed the remainder of her fried tomatoes around on her plate. It was no use. She could not finish; her stomach was roiling, and a little voice in her mind whispered that what she was feeling was guilt. She tried to push the feeling aside, however, and concentrate on the reasons she had to feel at ease. The school year was effectively over, with just one day of Ordinary Wizarding Levels tests left for Harry and his classmates. Having administered her last final exam, Rose was now free to do as she liked until the end-of-term-feast. There was yet no Ordinary Wizarding Level test for Studies in International Magical Issues. She planned to leave school this afternoon for a long weekend with Sirius. And yet, Rose could not muster excitement. She supposed the feeling of unrest came from the events of the previous night, from the ouster of Hagrid and the attack on Minerva McGonagall.

Rumors had been flying since breakfast. Some said Hagrid had tried to attack Umbridge and missed, hitting Minerva instead. Others said that Hagrid had fled Umbridge and the Ministry Hit-Wizards and that McGonagall had held them off before joining him in flight. Students who claimed to be eyewitnesses to the events, whom Rose was inclined to believe, said that Ministry Hit-Wizards had tried to attack Hagrid and that McGonagall had fallen, defending him. Rose had hurried, frantic, to the hospital wing after breakfast, but Poppy Pomphrey had told her in confidence that Minerva was, in fact, at St. Mungo's, recovering from five stunning spells to the chest.

" _Five?_ " Rose had asked, her hands coming to her face in shock. "They could have killed her! The brutes!"

"Don't get me started," Poppy had rejoined, snorting. "There's a reason they tried to do it under cover of night, is all."

Rose had walked slowly back to her office then, trying to make up her mind what to do. She longed to see Sirius, had been looking forward to it for weeks, but now? With Minerva and Dumbledore gone, Rose did not like to think of leaving Harry, _Or any of the students, really,_ she thought, alone, even for a weekend. She'd wrestled with her conscience all morning. The truth of it was, though she felt she ought to stay, she _wanted_ to go to Grimmauld Place as planned.

As she sat over her now cold tomatoes, Rose tallied a list of reasons to justify herself in going. O.W.L. exams were nearly over. If she went away, Umbridge would not have the opportunity to fire her, or even to question her again, until the End-of-Year-Feast that Sunday. Umbridge had indeed been too distracted by the difficulty of maintaining her regime in the face of riotous opposition from students and more subtle, but significant, opposition from the staff, to proceed with putting Rose on probation up to that point. But were she, Rose, ousted, or even questioned more effectively, Harry might be implicated, as her nephew and complicit in the deception. _What would she do to him if she learned he'd been hiding that from her?_ Rose wondered, shuddering. No, it was surely safer for them both if she went away as planned. Harry had seemed to continue well enough without his Occlumency lessons. While he continued to dwell, in his sleep, on the Hall of Prophecy, he had had no further disturbing visions or apparent attempts on his mind by Voldemort. _The year is coming to a much smoother conclusion than I could have guessed when Dumbledore fled the school,_ she mused. _So why shouldn't I get in one more visit to Sirius?_

She shook away her remaining doubts as her eyes fell on Harry, lunching with his friends, laughing at something Dean Thomas was saying. _Harry's all right_ , she told herself, as she got to her feet and pushed in her chair. _It's Sirius that needs me just now_. As she passed the Gryffindor fifth years on her way out of the hall, Rose smiled and chirped, "Good luck on your exams, my dears! _Te laisse pas emmerder!_ " Harry and Ron grinned appreciatively. Hermione said, "Are you starting your weekend early, Professor?"

"I am," Rose replied, slowing for a moment. "My exams are all completed. But, I shall see you on Sunday evening for the feast." They all nodded and gave their good-byes. In thirty minutes, Rose was again stepping past a glowering Severus Snape into green flames. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

Sirius was nowhere to be seen when she stepped out of the fire into the drawing room, but within seconds she heard his eager steps creaking above her. After dusting herself off and putting down her carpetbag, Rose withdrew a silver chain from the neck of her robes and unclasped it. When Sirius appeared at the bottom of the stairs, grinning at her, black hair swinging from his face, she was in the act of placing the ring which had been hanging from the chain onto the ring finger of her left hand once more.

He watched her do it, his smile becoming less teasing and more genuine, and then threw his arms around her. She embraced him back.

"All is well, then?" he asked in her ear.

"Well enough," she replied, stretching up to kiss him. "But I did think twice about visiting after last night." And sitting on the sofa, her carpet-bag still on the floor by the fireplace, Rose related all the previous night's events, as succinctly as she could. "So Hagrid's gone," she concluded, looking into his frowning face, "And Minerva's-"

"Minnie's in St. Mungo's." Sirius finished, and whistled. "Merlin, it _would_ take five stunners and no less to land her there. She's as hard as steel. I wish I'd been there. The Marauders wouldn't've stood for it. Where was Harry in all this? Why didn't he rush to her defense, like a good Gryffindor?"

"He was at the top of the Astronomy Tower, taking his O.W.L. Would you have wanted him to jump?" Rose asked tartly. "But this was after midnight, anyway; most of the castle was asleep." She put her hand in his and he put it to his lips. "I am not easy leaving Harry," she admitted. "But on the whole I thought he might be better off if Umbridge hasn't got the opportunity to corner me this weekend."

"Harry can always call me over the mirror," Sirius reminded her. "If things get desperate over there, he will. In the meantime, we'll distract you. It's not an official Order meeting, but I'm expecting company for dinner."

"Moony and Tonks?" Rose asked, clasping her hands and sitting up straighter.

"And Moody and Kingsley," Sirius added. "We'll probably discuss some Order business over dinner- you know Moody can't ever really let work go- but they're going to stay a while after to play cards. You and Moony could entertain us," he suggested, nodding to the piano.

"What time do they arrive?" Rose asked, her smile spreading as her conviction grew that she had been right, after all, to come to London this weekend.

"Not until seven. And, as it's only just gone two, we've got time to ourselves." He raised his eyebrows as he said the last phrase, and Rose laughed at the shamelessness of it. Nevertheless, she got to her feet readily and followed him upstairs. "Harry will be just starting his last O.W.L.," she said distractedly, as they climbed.

"Which one's he got now?" Sirius asked, reaching for her hand with the hand that was not holding her carpet-bag.

"History of Magic," she replied. Within a minute, however, all thoughts of her nephew were effectively driven from her mind. They were not even all the way into the bedroom when Sirius began kissing her neck.

* * *

Hours later, Rose was practicing a jazz song on the piano that she knew to be one of Remus' favorites. She hoped to have it in shape to play for him that night. Sirius was happily applying himself to a moving crossword puzzle in one of the issues of _The_ _Prophet_ that Rose had brought him when they heard a CRACK sound from upstairs. Sirius put down his quill; Rose lifted her hands from the piano. They looked at each other. The sound of running feet upstairs was followed by an indignant screech.

"Buckbeak," said Sirius, and jumped to his feat, running to the stairs. Rose followed, perplexed. When they arrived in the hallway outside the magically enlarged room where Buckbeak lived, though, they both stopped abruptly. Standing before them, a menacing smile on his pinched face, was Kreacher.

"What the sodding hell did you do to Buckbeak, you little shit-strained barnacle?" Sirius shouted at him. Without waiting for an answer, he stepped around the elf and entered Buckbeak's room.

Rose stood a moment and gazed at Kreacher. He looked the same as always, but there was a manic fire in his expression that, if she was honest with herself, she found a little frightening. "Kreacher? Dear? Where have you been? We've missed you!" she lied.

"Kreacher does not speak to Mudbloods!" Kreacher said to the ceiling, his face contorting. "He does not! He had allowed this Mudblood to debase him with her orders, he has watched her sneak into his Master's home, as if she was family, as if one of her befouled blood could be-"

"KREACHER, YOU SHUT YOUR FILTHY GOB!" Sirius hollered, and Rose hurried past Kreacher, whose ears were trembling with indignation. As she entered Buckbeak's room, she heard his quick steps running downstairs. She shut the door against any further intrusion and focused her eyes on Buckbeak, whose wing was protruding at an odd angle, and who was shrieking cacophonously, clearly in pain.

"He's broken Bucky's wing!" Sirius told her indignantly. He was stroking the hippogriff's feathery head, muttering soothingly, "Shhhh, Bucky, shhhhh. We'll get you right. Don't fret." He took a step backward so that he could meet Buckbeak's eyes, which were roving wildly as the beast continued to squawk. "Bucky. Heeeey. Bucky. I've got you, mate." Slowly, Buckbeak ceased thrashing and returned Sirius' gaze. He still emitted high-pitched moans with every breath, but he had become still.

"Rosey," Sirius said quietly, continuing to look into Buckbeak's pain-clouded eyes. "I could heal him, but I'd have to break eye contact, and I'm afraid he'll just get all wound up again. Could you-?"

"Certainly," Rose replied, though her heart began to beat a bit faster. It'd been years since she'd healed a bone, and she'd never healed a non-human before.

"You'll need to bow to him. Establish trust, you know." Sirius' voice was still low as he stroked Buckbeak's feathers.

"Of course, of course," she said, distractedly. Rose felt for her wand, found it safely tucked into her sleeve, and slowly approached, looking at the hippogriff's expressive eyes. It continued to gaze at Sirius, but for a moment, its eyes flashed to her. Rose took that as acknowledgement, and sank into a low and gracious curtsey. Again, Buckbeak's eyes flashed onto her, and it sank its beak fractionally in response before looking back into Sirius' face.

Feeling that this was as much as she could hope for, Rose took a few steps until she was standing near enough the bent wing. From below, they could make out Kreacher's bullfrog croak raised in maniacal laughter. "Git," muttered Sirius, but he continued to stroke Buckbeak's face.

Rose withdrew her wand. She pointed it at Buckbeak's wing, drew in a shaking breath, and concentrated. " _Ossanadum."_

With a pop, the bone in Buckbeak's wing sprang together. He roared with pain, and snapped at Rose, but Sirius held his head and spoke to him reassuringly until he was calm again. Again, Rose raised her wand, more confident now, and said, " _Ferula._ " The bandage stretched the entire length of the creature's wing, but he did not protest. After a glance at his bandaged wing, Buckbeak lowered his head onto Sirius' shoulder.

They stayed with Buckbeak for another quarter of an hour, soothing him and checking for other injuries. Then, Rose looked at her watch and gave a small gasp. "Paddy, it's almost six. We've got to start dinner!" She looked over at Sirius. The hippogriff's beak was in his lap, and Sirius was scratching it attentively. The two looked so tranquil that Rose smiled. "Why don't I get it started, and you can take over for me at half-six? Then I can change for dinner."

"Thank you, Rosey. Let's do that," Sirius agreed.

"Don't forget to change for dinner yourself, _chéri_. You smell like hippogriff. No offense, my friend," she added hastily to Buckbeak before speeding out of the room to prepare the frypan.

Rose was still below, singing and frying fish, when a bright silvery light streamed into the room. Buckbeak whistled and turned his head away from the source, which was a shining silver doe. Sirius, who had fallen asleep, woke with a gasp to find the doe's nose in his face. It opened its mouth.

"Do not leave the house, Black," it said in Severus Snape's voice. Then, with a pop, the doe vanished.

"I swear the next time I see Snape I'm setting him on fire," Sirius grumbled. "Imagine waking someone up from a perfectly good afternoon nap just to tell them to stay home. Obnoxious, is what it is." He got up slowly from where Buckbeak was settling back down to sleep, and brightened. "Oh, but Snivellus will make a merry blaze of it. All that grease!" He chuckled and checked his pocket watch. Six-thirty. It was time to relieve Rosey in the kitchen but- he looked down at his clothing- he'd need to stop by his bedroom first.

Remus and Tonks were the first to arrive. Tonks greeted Rose with a quick hug; the two had become quite friendly in the last months. "Tonks! It's been weeks! What have you been doing?"

"Trying to stay awake, mostly," she replied merrily, though she looked far from tired now. She ran a hand through her hair, which was fluffy and platinum, that night. "Between Auror duty and Order duty, I'm ragged."

"What are the Aurors' priorities, at the moment?" Rose asked. "In the absence of Voldemort, it's hard to imagine where they see a threat."

"Actually, I spend a lot of my time pretending to look for this one," Tonks answered, jabbing Sirius in the chest with her finger. "He's a tricky bastard, though, and damned clever, so we've made next to no progress." She grinned as Sirius wrapped her in an enthusiastic hug. "Shame, really. I'd love a Ministry-sanctioned excuse to hex him."

Rose shook hands with Moody and Kingsley, next. Moody nodded and gave a grunt. Kingsley gave a very slight bow over her hand and smiled. "Good to see you, again, Miss Evans. Are you well?"

"I"m very well, thank you," Rose said, returning his smile. "And it's Rose, Kingsley. I've only told you a dozen times."

Their dinner, a simple meal of salad, fried fish, and potato wedges, was hearty and flavorful; Tonks had brought vinegar. They caught up with one another's news: Moody had a new trainee, Kingsley's youngest sister was graduating from Hogwarts that year, and Tonks was to start patrolling Hogsmeade for the Order in September.

"That means I'll see a lot more of you, Rose," Tonks told her. "You're returning to teach, aren't you?"

"Oh yes," Rose assured her, "As long as Madame Umbridge doesn't have her way. I'm very confident that next year will see me at Hogwarts, as surely as it will see Harry playing Quidditch for Gryffindor."

After dinner, they trooped into the drawing room for cards. Rose had taught many of the assembled to play at Disappearing _Coinche_ , but Moody and Kingsley had never learned it. They watched as Sirius and Tonks, Rose and Remus played a game, and when everyone's cards but Sirius' had disappeared, Kingsley and Moody joined the game, while Rose and Remus went to the piano. Rose was able to play most of "Rhapsody in Blue" for Remus without making a mistake, and when she finished, he applauded enthusiastically. They played a simpler jazz song then, Remus taking the chord work again and Rose, the melody. Then, Sirius was pressing drinks into their hands and enchanting the piano to play a raucous rock tune. They returned to the card table for Exploding Snap.

The music was still playing, and Rose's veins were thrumming with the mixed firewhiskey drink when a POP! rang out from the fireplace, barely audible over the noise of the party. Sirius silenced the piano with his wand, and they all fell quiet in time for Severus Snape's head to appear in the now-green flames.

Snape did not offer any type of greeting. "Harry Potter and several of his friends have gone missing," he began coldly. Sirius leapt to his feet; Rose put her hand to her chest. "They went to the Forbidden Forest several hours ago in the company of Dolores Umbridge. Umbridge has since been found, unharmed, though disoriented from her experiences with the centaurs. Of Potter and the other missing students, however, there is no trace. We have reason to think they may be in London."

"They haven't come here, Severus." Rose was shocked to hear her voice sound so calm; she had broken into a cold sweat after his first words. "Do you have any other ideas about where they might be?"

He addressed his response to her. "We think they may be attempting to enter the Ministry of Magic; specifically, the Hall of Prophecy. Potter expressed a concern that you and Black might be there. We suspect the Dark Lord may have made another attempt on his mind."

"You keep saying 'we,' Snape," Sirius growled from behind Rose. "Who are you working with that you can't be bothered to contact Harry's aunt and godfather when he goes missing?"

"That'll be Dumbledore, of course," Remus said, gesturing for Sirius to stand down. "We can be there in minutes, Snape. Anything else?"

"Be on your guard," Snape said, though it seemed plain from his tone that he was indifferent on the question of their safety. "There may well be Death Eaters at the Ministry." And with another POP, Severus' face disappeared.

"Right. We're going to the Ministry, then," Moody barked once the coals burned orange again. "Tonks and I can Disapparate first. Shacklebolt, you and Lupin follow. Evans, we'll wait for you in the entranceway." Nodding briskly at Rose, he strode out of the door. Tonks gave Lupin a sort of nervous wink and stepped after him.

"I'm going."

It was a statement, a declaration, and Sirius' eyes were hard as two flints when Rose looked at him. Her heart seized. But before she could respond, Lupin cleared his throat, then followed Tonks onto the front stoop. Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out after him, and they were alone.

"Paddy," Rose said in a low voice, reaching out and gripping his arms with both hands. "The Ministry of Magic. The center of their search for you. There could be no worse place-"

"I tell you, I'm going. I am not, I am NOT staying in this house while Harry's in danger, and while all of you are fighting. Do not ask it of me, Rose." The flint of his eyes seemed to throw off dangerous sparks as his jaw set.

Rose released him and indulged in a groan. "Oh, why couldn't he have used his mirror?"

"He may have lost it. Or forgotten about it. It doesn't matter now; he needs us."

"But the Aurors will be sure to come!" Rose almost wailed. "They'll have you back in Azkaban tomorrow!"

He put his hands on her shoulders. "We don't know that. They'll see me fighting Death Eaters; they'll have to admit they were wrong about something. But I'm going, Rose. I'm sorry. Harry is priority."

"Yes. Yes, of course he is. And.. I suppose there is Dumbledore," Rose reasoned with herself, though she felt cold all over. "Well." She glanced at her watch. Minutes had elapsed since Moody had disapparated. "We've got to go."

"Yes. _We_ have." Sirius picked his wand up off the end table where he'd left it and walked decisively out the front door. Sighing, and hugging herself against the chill of the memory of her last visit to the Department of Mysteries, Rose went with him. She felt her cedar wand safe and firm in her sleeve, and closed the door. Then, she took Sirius' hand, and after a swift look in which alarm, determination, and love passed symmetrically between them, Sirius turned on the spot and Disapparated.

* * *

Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley and Mad-Eye were waiting for them when they arrived. Moody raised an eyebrow at the sight of Sirius; Lupin, however, looked unsurprised. The six of them made their silent way to the Hall of Prophecy, where they found an appalling sight. The Hall of Prophecy had been wrecked. Hundreds of glass balls had been shattered, several shelves had fallen over and broken, and many other shelves were demolished to a fine dust on the floor.

"Blimey," Tonks breathed. "Well, _somebody's_ been here."

"Somebody with a one hell of a Reductor Curse," Sirius agreed, also whispering.

"We should split up," Mad-Eye directed. "We'd have no way of hearing them if they're in any other room, with the sound-dampening charms in here. But they may come back."

Before Moody could specify, Kingsley said, "Rose, Sirius, you two stay here. The four of us," he gestured to Tonks, Lupin, Moody and himself, "can search the rest of the Department. Patronus us if anyone comes. We'll do the same."

Rose felt a pang at this, and then a thrum of gratitude that Sirius was there. On her own, she'd have been unable to communicate with the others. She made a mental note to resume her efforts toward casting a Patronus this summer. And then the others were gone, and she and Sirius were alone.

They looked at one another for a moment, and then, "I don't like the state of this room," Sirius remarked, looking around at the debris on the floor. "Or the silence."

"Maybe it means they successfully fought their way out," Rose offered.

"Or they've been captured," Sirius said, darkly. He stalked down one intact row of prophecies, and Rose stepped around the broken glass to make her way down another. They paced for several minutes, sometimes emerging from a row at the same time and locking eyes before continuing their progress. When they arrived at the place where they started, Sirius stopped, looking agitated. Rose took his hand.

"This place is boring," he observed. Beneath the worry and agitation, Rose detected a trace of humor in his face.

"I told you it was," she replied, squeezing his fingers. And then, abruptly, it wasn't anymore.

Both of them tensed when the silver lynx raced into the Hall of Prophecy. It opened its mouth and spoke with Kingsley's voice. "Potter is in the Death Room. Come now."

"Which is the Death Room?" Rose asked as they raced to the circular, rotating room. It was a rhetorical question, as Sirius had no way of knowing this. He took it as such and didn't answer while she said the incantation to keep the room from spinning, then deliberated a moment. But before she could pick a room at random, the lynx's head thrust itself through one of the doors, then disappeared. Sirius opened that door and they ran through. When she saw what was on the other side of the door, Rose's heart dropped.

At the bottom of steep, circular stairs, Kingsley, Lupin, Mad-Eye and Tonks were fighting some ten masked Death Eaters. They were outnumbered, but holding their own. Harry stood over Neville Longbottom, his own wand raised protectively. But what caused Rose to freeze momentarily was the sight, just over Kingsley's shoulder, of the raised dais and a familiar curtained stone archway. _No._ She was frozen with horror, even as Sirius pushed past her down the steps. Woodenly, Rose forced herself to move.

When she was halfway down the stairs, she broke into a run. One Death Eater had seized Harry by the neck and looked to be choking him. Before she could get to him, however, Neville Longbottom jabbed a wand into the Death Eater's mask, and in his pain he released Harry. Rose threw a Stunning Spell at the man before he could retaliate; he hit the ground with a thud, where his mask fell the rest of the way from his face. MacNair. Rose had just time to see Harry get to his feet before another Death Eater found her, having just disarmed Mad-Eye Moody.

" _Impedimenta_!" Rose called, and he was knocked sideways into a taller Death Eater who was dueling Remus. He recovered quickly, however, and she dodged a jet of red light from his wand.

"The Prophecy, Potter!" The Death Eater screamed as he and Rose traded spells. He aimed purple flames at Harry, but Rose blocked them, flinging her arms wide in front of Harry and Neville.

"Your business is with me, _sans-couilles_!"1 She shouted, taking pleasure in foiling his attempt to hex her with a quick shield charm.

" _Stupify!"_ He blocked it.

" _Expulso!"_ She dodged. Rose felt her blood begin to sing in her veins as her reluctance and fear evaporated. This was what she had come for. Sirius was right; she was born to this. Back and forth they danced, Rose dodging and blocking each of the Death Eater's curses easily.

" _Bête comme ses pieds!_ "2 She taunted the panting Death Eater between spells. "Is this the best Voldemort's got?"

She dodged another spell, but tripped over Neville, who'd run afoul of a _Tarantallegra_ hex and was wildly clogging behind her. Before her enemy could finish the curse he began, however, Sirius rammed into him while he dueled his own Death Eater. This gave her time to get to her feet, but before she could fire another spell, Harry bellowed, " _Petrificus Totalus!"_ and the Death Eater fell.

"Nice one!" Sirius shouted to Harry, before racing off toward the cackling Bellatrix LeStrange. Tonks lay in a heap before her. "Hullo, cousin!" he called to her, with savage enjoyment, and the two began to duel.

Rose could only watch him, fear clenching her throat, for a moment before another Death Eater turned to her and she only just had time to dodge a jet of red light. She returned fire, and then the two were locked in combat.

Once again, Rose felt the delicious sensation of mastery as she fought. Her foe seemed to move in slow motion, while she darted fast as lightning, anticipating his moves, seeming to block his spells almost as soon as he cast them. As she threw jinx after jinx at the squat Death Eater, Rose made a conscious effort to move, step by step, away from the veiled archway. She feared it more than she feared any Death Eater in the room. "Stay behind me, Harry and Neville!" she shouted behind her after throwing up a shield charm.

Their movement cost her; one of the Death Eater's Stinging Hexes connected with her arm. She sucked in her teeth and hissed, " _Fils de pute,_ "3 before throwing another Stunning Spell at the man. He matched her, hex for hex, dodging or blocking all of her spells. Rose's back was to the door, which was perhaps why she continued to fight even when the man looked up, froze in apparent fear, and then turned to run. Rose _Stupefied_ the man before he had run two paces, then turned to see what had caused him to stop fighting. Her heart lifted. Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, a rage that was terrible to behold on his lined face.

And she knew they were saved, Harry was saved, for the fight had gone out of the Death Eaters who remained. They were gathered together by some spell Rose did not know and bound together. Dumbledore ran down the steps; one Death Eater made a break for it, but Dumbledore reeled him back in with an easy flick of his wand. Then they were all subdued, or she thought they were, but behind her Rose heard Bellatrix's oblivious cackle. Then Sirius gave an insolent laugh, to match.

Rose turned, and for a moment she thought one of the Death Eaters had hit her with a full-body bind. Her limbs turned to ice. Sirius and Bellatrix were on the raised dais, treacherously close to the archway, still trading spells, oblivious to Dumbledore's arrival.

"SIRIUS!" She screamed. _"Come down!"_

"Just let me lay out my cousin, here, _ma reine_!" he called in response, his tone full of brash confidence. They were a blur of motion and vicious words. In fact, the whole stone room had become a blur, with Order Members and Harry only points of heat around her, and Dumbledore becoming merely a vague column of power behind. All eyes were on the two on the dais.

 _But someone must tell them, Bellatrix cannot know that Dumbledore is here, someone should speak_! Rose's mind screamed, but her body seemed frozen again as Sirius taunted his cousin, "Come on, you can do better than that!"

Seemingly to prove that she could, Bellatrix slashed her wand and the spell connected with Sirius' chest. Rose's scream burst from her then as Sirius lost his balance, staggered, and slowly, slowly, with the colors of the room blurring around him, he fell through the curtained archway, and disappeared.

After several seconds of gasping silence, somehow the sound seemed to come back into the room. Dumbledore was speaking incantations over the bound Death Eaters, Kingsley was calling out to him, words she could not understand. There was a keening scream horrifying her ears, but when Rose realized it was her own, the scream became a groan, as if of nausea, and she sank to her knees. Ahead of her, Remus was wrestling with a flailing, shouting Harry, who seemed crazed with grief, holding him back from chasing after Sirius, Remus' own face aghast.

But who would hold her back-?

1 "No-balls!"

2 "As stupid as his feet!"

3 "Son of a bitch!"


	28. Third Flower Chapter 29

**Chapter 29: Nyctinasty**

 **A.N. Sunday, July 7, 1996. Dalston, London.**

London was a good deal quieter than Paris. Even with the windows of her new flat wide open in the cool morning, the sound of car horns and the noises that went along with urban foot traffic were not nearly so noticeable as they Rose remembered them being in her flat in Paris. Some of this might have been a function of the neighborhood; her Paris flat had been in a very dense, commercial district. Rose's new flat in Muggle Dalston backed up to a garden, of all things. In the morning, before the daily commute had taken hold, she could even make out birdsong. A cool breeze swept into the window, lifting her hair and rustling the papers on her untidy desk. Perhaps in imitation of the wind, she sighed, but she did not move from her bed.

In around an hour, she knew, the noise of the traffic would increase with the Muggle morning commute. In an hour, the noises from outside would do something to dampen the discord in her mind, and the crowd of unwanted thoughts, memories, and the attendant painful static would muted, if only somewhat. But for now, Rose had no defense against her thoughts, and against the looming presence of what, in her mind, she was beginning to refer to as the Big Awful. Her mind circled helplessly as if around a stopped drain, with the events of that night, just over two weeks ago, at the center.

She could bear to look at the events just surrounding the black chasm in her mind. Dueling the Death Eaters. Dumbledore's arrival. And then- and then just after, finding Hermione unconscious, Ron addled, Ginny in pain. Neville had been invaluable, showing her where they all were, convincing Ron to walk with them while Rose levitated Hermione. She'd been grateful to have the young people to worry about, then. Stroking Hermione's disheveled hair and keeping Ron talking, keeping him focused, kept her from thinking about anything else. Dumbledore had disappeared, pursuing Harry after he'd gone after Bellatrix. She did not learn exactly what had happened to them until morning, so her mind had vacillated between the horror of what might be happening to Harry, and the horror of what had happened to- to-

Her thoughts swung wildly in their elliptical orbit around the Big Awful. Dumbledore had put her out of her worry for Harry that morning, when he'd found her in her office, shaking and staring at the fire. Hermione and Ron, Luna and Neville and Ginny had all been returned safely to Hogwarts. Lupin had assured Rose before they left the Ministry that Harry was safe, that he was going back to Hogwarts with Dumbledore, but no one had seen him. Lupin, then, had left for St. Mungo's after Tonks, whose condition was still tenuous. Once the students were admitted to the hospital wing and their various treatments were underway, no one seemed to need or indeed remember Rose. In her bewilderment, she'd staggered back to her office just after dawn. Dumbledore had knocked on the door just after seven. She hardly remembered what he'd said. Words of compassion, of sympathy for her grief, at first. He'd assured her that Harry was safe and physically well, and had told her that she was under no obligation to remain at the school for the remainder of the school year. He had asked her what she wanted to do.

"I want to get a flat in London," she'd told him. Until she said it, she'd had no clear idea that she wanted anything of the sort, but Dumbledore had always had a crystallizing effect on her mind. He'd asked her what he could do, then, and she asked him, though she could see he was exhausted, to tell her exactly what had happened. How had Harry had come to believe Sirius and herself in danger? What had brought him to the Ministry of Magic that night? Dumbledore had patiently related the events of the previous day, but his relation had held several knives which stabbed her heart as she listened.

Harry had had a vision during his History of Magic O.W.L. The first knife. Harry was seeing these things while she was- while they were- she had closed her eyes. And if she'd only stayed another day, if she'd only stayed another few _hours_ , she could have prevented all. He'd even tried to contact Sirius, Dumbledore said, at about half past five. Rose thought back quickly to what they had been doing at that time, her tired mind cloudy, but Dumbledore was telling her about Kreacher's deception before she could arrive. This was another knife; she'd closed the door to Buckbeak's room, blocked out the sound from downstairs, or they might have heard- And then there was the warning, Severus' warning to Sirius, of which Sirius had not told her. Had he mentioned Snape's Patronus' words to her, perhaps she might have urged him to respond, to press for information, to get in touch with Harry. Another knife. Rose left Hogwarts only hours later with nothing but her carpet bag and the knives in her heart, a storm brewing in her mind around the Big Awful.

Once before, Rose had received a terrible shock and had experienced a period of clarity before a fog set in. That day she'd left Hogwarts was another such period; just as in the copse at Beauxbatons, she'd known it would last just long enough for a few necessary tasks. She'd moved decisively, buying a Muggle newspaper as soon as she arrived in London, circling ads in the small coffee shop, withdrawing enough for her deposit from Gringotts, and changing her money before arranging to visit the three flats which had seemed suitable. She'd cooly appraised and rejected the first; she had signed for the second flat on the spot. That night she had spent on the sofa at Grimmauld Place, not so much sleeping as giving in to her utter mental fatigue for a few hours. In the morning, after packing the few things she'd kept at Grimmauld Place into one of the Black family suitcases, she'd moved into her new flat.

Days later, three Hogwarts House Elves had brought the remainder of her clothing from her quarters at the school. Since that time, except for a visit to a greengrocer's for food, she had not left the flat. There had been no visitors. As far as she could tell, Harry had not attempted to contact her on the two-way mirror, which she'd taken from Sirius' room. She didn't blame him. The last person he probably wanted to see was another adult who'd abandoned him. And she had abandoned him, left him when he'd needed her most, to visit her lover, and to drink and play at cards. She, who had promised him he'd never be without family again, who had earned his trust and (she rather hoped) his love, had failed him, abandoned him, and had been responsible for the death of the one adult he loved more than any other. Sirius was gone (the Big Awful momentarily pulsed) and it was all Rose's fault. It was as if a Dementor had taken up residence inside her chest. Harry would surely never want to see her again.

So she had stayed, though she knew an Order of the Phoenix meeting had come and gone, though Tonks' Patronus had come and invited her to tea, though Dumbledore had owled to tell her of his plan to remove Harry from her sister's home by the second weekend of July. She'd stayed in her flat, eating only when she remembered, but keeping meticulously clean and well-groomed. She had her tea mechanically twice a day, even if she ate little else, and she waited for the grief to come. But it had not come. Around and around her thoughts had soared around the black hole in her mind, but she had never been able to approach it, and it had not spread out to claim her. She cried no tears. She knew she must look dreadful, but she set her face determinedly to the business of grieving. It was like waiting for a storm to arrive.

On that morning, the fourteenth day since she had moved into her flat, Rose was lying on her bed, listening to the faint sounds from her window with an expressionless face. Suddenly, it registered to her abstracted mind that there was a new sound reverberating through the air, a rhythmic, repetitive sound. A knock. The first knock at her flat's door. She got to her feet, a bit too quickly. Spots swam momentarily before her eyes at her sudden change of posture, but she shook her head impatiently until they dispersed, then walked through the small living area and kitchen to the door.

"Hello?" she said. Her voice rather croaked from lack of use. "Who is it?"

"It is I, Remus John Lupin, member of the Order of the Phoenix, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, and- your friend, Rose." Rose was beginning to unlock the door, but his voice came again. "We have been advised not to open doors unless we are certain of the identity of the visitor. Can you think of anything to ask me, something which may not be widely known?"

She thought back. Absurdly, the only memory which came to her at the moment was from months ago, over Christmas, when she and- and Sirius had been making breakfast in the kitchen, speaking French comfortably together. Rose had been preparing tea for Harry and Remus, who were sitting in the dining room. She'd put Harry's milk and sugar in his tea, then paused.

" _Qu'est-ce que Remy prend dans son thé?_ "1 Rose had asked Sirius.

" _Un peu de lait et sans sucre,_ "2 Sirius had replied, while Remus had raised his voice from the dining room to protest, "No fair talking about me in French, Rose!"

"What do you take in your tea?" Rose asked through the door.

She could hear a small smile in his voice as he answered. "A bit of milk. No sugar."

Rose unlocked the door. Remus looked worn and even more haggard than usual. There were dark patches under his eyes, and he did not appear to have shaved in several days. But he did indeed have a slight smile on his face as he shook her hand. "Rosey. I'm so sorry to intrude. Tonks was worried, when she didn't hear from you; she thought someone should look in on you."

"I'm- sorry for that; please tell her. I did get her Patronus. And I know I've missed meetings. I just," she paused, trying to find an acceptable excuse for her to have ignored so many people for two weeks. "I just couldn't," was all she could come up with to say. _I suppose I'm more tired than I thought_.

"Everyone understands, Rose," Remus said gently. He was studying her, concern and pity plain on his face. She stood up a little straighter under his eyes.

"Well. Speaking of tea, would you like some? I was just about to make some, for me, anyway."

"I would love some tea, thank you." He finally took his eyes away from her and gave his attention to their surroundings. The flat was not large, but it was clean. Everything in it was white; the walls, the appliances, the tile, and the carpet in the sitting room were blaringly white. There were two bedrooms; Rose had insisted on this; though she still felt sure Harry would want nothing to do with her, she had hoped that perhaps one day he might be induced to visit. "What a lovely flat you've found," Remus said, after glancing around.

"Thank you. It needs color. One day, perhaps, I will paint." She had set the kettle to boil and put the loose, black tea into the pot, glad in that moment that she had been making tea twice a day for long enough that she need not think while doing it. Remus silently opened the cupboard above the stove and removed two cups and saucers. They did not speak again until they were seated with their respective cups, across from one another at her small kitchen table.

"How are you?" Remus asked her, after taking a sip of his tea.

"Oh, I'm all right, Remus." Rose answered automatically. After a few sips of her own, while he watched her skeptically, she added, "I don't… sleep well."

"Are you eating?"

"I'm- I have tea. I eat. Sometimes." She avoided his eyes, suddenly feeling far too tired for company.

"When did you last have a proper meal?" Remus' eyebrows were raised, and he looked troubled, but he spoke steadily.

She thought. "I… ordered some take out on Wednesday. I had a little left yesterday morning, so I had it for breakfast. I couldn't really taste it. I'm not hungry, Moony, truly."

It was plain from his expression that he either did not believe her, or that he would return to the question later. But for the moment, he did not press her. "I'm sure you're in shock. I know I am. To have gotten him back two years ago, only to lose him now-" He looked stricken.

Rose looked away quickly. The Big Awful throbbed in her mind. Resolutely she thought of the moon, and then looked back at him. "Yes," she said quietly, "I suppose I am."

"He didn't want to go, of course he didn't," Remus said, sighing. "But, you know, Sirius once told me that his greatest fear was dying a boring death, in his sleep, at Grimmauld Place. Last summer, the night when he'd first moved back in to that place, after we'd spent the day decontaminating and disarming the principal rooms enough to sleep in them, he had a very low time of it. He said, 'I just know I'm going to die in here, Mooney. This place is going to kill me.' But he didn't, you know, he got to go outside… he got to fight again, he got to feel the night air. It was such a beautiful night-" to Rose's alarm, Remus' face crumpled and he let out a strangled sob. He struggled to regain control, but was not able to resume speech. Eventually, he placed his head in his hands and quietly wept.

Rose looked at him for a moment, feeling very far away. _Poor Moony,_ she thought, calmly folding her hands in her lap. _I wonder if I ought to tell him about Astou's moon._ And then an absurd laugh bubbled up into her throat, very nearly escaping through her mouth. She clamped a hand to her face. _No,_ she answered herself dryly, _I think I_ won't _tell Remus Lupin that he ought to calm down by thinking of the full moon. I really don't think that would help._

She saw a tear break through Remus' fingers, and suddenly she no longer felt far away. Standing up, she moved her chair to his side of the table, sat in it sideways, and threw her arms around him. He hugged her back, and for several minutes the only sounds were of sniffling and murmuring. No tears came to her, but as the warmth of Remus' arms spread through her she felt the beginnings of a thaw. As she rubbed his back soothingly, Rose remembered again that day in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, when Remus had told her not to talk about him in French.

"I was only asking what you took in your tea, Moony," she'd said gaily as she set down his and Harry's cups of tea. It was early, and only the two of them were in the dining room, Molly taking advantage of Rose and Sirius' offer to have a lie-in. Remus had looked surprised and grateful when she'd put down his cup, and Harry had said, "Oh, thank you, Rose," and she'd lingered in the doorway a moment before going back to the kitchen.

" _Mes deux frères,_ "3 she'd said, smiling fondly. And Remus, who understood enough French to work that out, had smiled back at her.

Now, Rose drank her tea sitting side-by-side with Remus, after he had composed himself. He told her what had been covered in the most recent Order of the Phoenix meeting. Dumbledore had provided a detailed description of the events of the twentieth of June to the assembled Order members, and had concluded by describing the ways in which their movements would be different, now that the Ministry acknowledged the return of Voldemort. Rose could tell that Remus was summarizing very sparingly, and she was grateful. It seemed impossible that The Order of the Phoenix still had meetings, and the feeling of distance and disorientation began to creep back into her mind. Perhaps noticing this, Remus suggested they continue their talk on the sofa.

Side by side on the chintz sofa which had come with the flat, they stared at the wall in silence for a minute. Then, Rose put her head on Remus' shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. "Remus," she whispered, her face close to his ear.

"Mmm?"

She swallowed. "I'm afraid to cry, Remus."

He nodded, as if this was completely understandable. "What do you think will happen if you do?" he asked her, softly.

"I think… I think I won't be able to stop." Rose summoned all her courage and looked directly at the Big Awful, where it sat, like a fat spider, in the center of her mind. Sirius, falling through the veil. Sirius, gone. Her mind seized.

Remus' hand on her shoulder was warm, reassuring. "When was the last time you did cry, Rosey? I mean, really cried."

Rose thought about this. She could remember fighting back tears, she could remember he eyes welling up, she remembered wiping them away and thinking of the moon on multiple occasions. But she could not think when she had last sobbed, or even allowed tears to fall freely. "I must have been twelve," she said. Then- "No, I was thirteen. Harry's third birthday. Petunia said I couldn't visit, again, and I knew I'd never see him. I cried over that letter, very hard."

"That long ago?" he said, incredulously.

"I think so. You see, Moony, I had to learn not to cry. I was determined to do well in school, to make them all proud. There was so much to cry about, and I couldn't learn when I was crying. My friend, Astou, she taught me…" Rose paused. "She taught me a way to stop tears from coming, or stop them from falling. A mental trick. So I just- don't. Because, if you don't have to, why would you? But now I think- I think I ought to cry. I probably need to cry. But I just can't." Her voice sank back into a whisper. "It's bigger than I am, Moony. I can feel it, like a great black being, and it's stronger than I am. If I go to it, I think it will swallow me." Her words were barely audible by this time, but Remus nodded again, seeming to hear her perfectly. She wondered idly if his lycanthropy had sharpened his hearing as he looked thoughtful.

"I don't think it will," he said, after a moment of consideration. "Swallow you. I think it will be very dark, and it hurts dreadfully-" he swallowed and gripped her shoulder more firmly, "but you won't stay in that place forever. No one can cry forever. Eventually, you reach a stopping place. And the grief gets easier. Over time, you find yourself laughing again, enjoying things again. Food gets its taste back. And just as your body will know to do those things, as long as you feed it and give it rest, it will know how to stop crying." His voice sounded calm, though infinitely weary.

His discussion of laughing and enjoying food only made her feel overwhelmed. Was anyone really going to expect such things of her? It seemed to her that no matter when anyone expected her to laugh over a meal with them, it would be too soon. And she was already so behind. _I can't even cry; how can I contemplate laughing?_ She soon ceased trying to apply his words to herself, and they lapsed again into silence. It was a friendly silence, however, one in which they simply sat, arms around each other, thinking their own separate thoughts, only occasionally letting out heavy sighs.

"I'm glad you've come to see me, Remus," she said, at long last.

"So am I," he replied, shaking his head and coming out of his reverie. "And now, to the larder. What have you got to eat?"

The answer, as it turned out, was nothing, beyond a few biscuits and plenty of tea. So, after taking some time to smooth her hair, wash her face, and change into the first Muggle clothes she could find, Rose went with him to the shop at the corner. They purchased eggs, bacon, potatoes, ham, vegetables, and a large bag of blueberries, which Remus insisted upon buying after Rose looked at them for longer than she'd looked at any other food in the shop. Remus helped her to put the groceries away, then pulled Rose's own apron from its nail by the oven and put it on his own lanky frame. Rose's mouth twitched, and then she smiled. It felt all wrong, as if she had injured her face, but she did it again more readily when he Summoned half a dozen eggs and caused them to crack their shells from two feet above the bowl. Remus whistled as he scrambled the eggs. Not knowing what else to do, Rose prepared toast, and washed some blueberries.

They ate together, not quite in silence, but in quiet that was only occasionally broken by a remark from one of them. Rose's flat was in a lovely neighborhood; oh, yes, it was very quiet. There were a lot of birds in the garden. The full moon had been the weekend before; had Remus come through it all right? It was not his easiest transformation, but Tonks had been kind enough to patch him up afterwards. Mostly, though, they simply chewed her food. Rose still couldn't taste it, but she felt her body absorb it gratefully. When they finished, Remus looked at her keenly. "You could use a nap," he told her, and she could not disagree.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked. "I don't have anything going on today. I could stay in your sitting room while you rest. I'd love to unpack your books. And I can make us some dinner?"

"Yes please," was all Rose said.

She slept for three hours, and woke feeling more refreshed than she had in days. Remus had put all of her books away, dividing them by genre and within each genre, shelving them alphabetically by author. Her mind flashed to what Sirius would say, if he could see what Remus had done, and for the second time that day, she found herself struggling against an absurd, convulsive laugh.

"What?" he asked, turning around and taking in her expression.

"Sirius would have had something to say about your alphabetizing my books," she said quietly.

His face seemed to flash between amusement and a stricken look of grief. "Yes," he answered, his voice sounding rather constricted. "Yes, he would. He'd have taken every last bit of the mickey," and he shook his head and did not continue.

They read for a while, separately at first, then aloud, Rose lending her voice to a chapter of _A Tale of Two Cities_. "I never liked Lucy Manette much," Rose confessed when she put the book down.

Remus was frying ham and turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Oh?"

"Lucy doesn't have a thought in her own head," Rose complained. "She's not really a person. She's just- an ideal. She's tiresome."

"If Dickens had a weakness, it was the way he wrote women," Remus agreed.

Rose watching him work patiently at the eggs, and thought about how much Sirus had loved him. She mused aloud, "I used to wonder if the reason Sirius liked us both so much is that we're so alike."

"There may be something to that," he said, setting the kettle to boil.

That evening, at Remus' encouragement, Rose took the first shower she'd taken in days. She stood and let the hot water drum against her back and the steam fill her sinuses. Rose took a deep breath, and when she exhaled it, she began to shiver. With shaking hands, she washed her hair and her body, but before her eyes the Big Awful seemed to swell irresistibly. Normally, she would have meditated on the moon and gradually beat it back, but a combination of Remus' words and the encircling warmth of the shower induced her to prod at the black spot, and to mount no defenses against it. Sirius was gone. He would never again greet her with his wolfish grin, never call her _Mademoiselle_ , never tease her or flirt with her, never hold her in his warm arms or look at her with those cool grey eyes. She would not marry him. And then pain stretched from the center of her stomach to her arms and legs, shot up into her head, and caused her to crumble in the shower, the hot water pouring around her bent head. Sobs were rearing up, and she did not fight them.

After several minutes of guttural sounds and bitter weeping, she heard a tentative knock. "Rosey? Are you safe?"

She turned off the water, but continued to cry helplessly. "I- think so," she managed to choke out.

"All right. I'm right here, if you need me."

Several minutes went by. Rose clung to the edge of the bathtub, shaking, shivering, and sobbing. Sirius' face was before her, more real than the wet porcelain she was gripping. In her mind he was so close, his voice was so clear. And yet she could not reach him. He was gone. There seemed no limit, once she had begun, to how much she could sob. Some part of her mind which was not writhing and screaming observed, detachedly, that the sounds coming out of her would surely be disturbing to any listener. She could not hear Remus over them, but she sensed that he was still there.

In time, Rose's shivers became more due to her cold, wet state than to her weeping. She realized that the sobs had been slowing for some time. Slowly, she was becoming conscious of the room around her. She reached for her towel and dried herself, then dressed in her nightgown and dressing gown, wiping away the last of her tears on her towel. Her limbs shook and she felt weak, but she knew she was in no danger of succumbing to tears again for a time.

When she emerged, she saw that Remus had drawn up a chair and was sitting just feet from the bathroom door. "I'm sorry, if you'd rather I had left you alone," he said quietly. "After what you said, I thought you might be a little bit afraid."

Words did not come to her immediately, but she tried to look her gratitude into his lined face. His smile was small and rather bleak, but it was genuine. "I seem to remember you bringing me tea, once, when I wasn't well," he said after a moment. "Why don't you lie down, and I'll bring you some?"

When he came in with a steaming cup several minutes later, Rose croaked, "You were right, Moony."

"About what?" He put her cup down on the stepstool she was using as a bedside table, then stood, leaning against the wall, to sip his own.

"It hurt. But it didn't last forever." She sighed and picked up the teacup, wrapping her fingers around it for warmth. "I suppose it'll happen again?"

"Probably," he agreed. "But perhaps not as intensely; you had a great deal of crying saved up, I think." He sipped again, and added, "And I don't think it's bigger or stronger than you are."

"Perhaps not." Her voice was just over a whisper. After a minute of silence, Rose made another effort to speak. "I suppose you ought to be getting home?" She dreaded waking up alone, but did not say so.

He looked at her carefully, then said, "I can stay the night. I have business tomorrow noon, but I can stay until then. If it would help?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Relief flooded her. She need not be alone with the Big Awful tonight. "It would," she whispered. "There is a guest room- it's got a bed."

"I've kipped in much more uncomfortable situations," Remus said wryly. He looked at her, seemed to decide she was too tired to do anything but sleep, and turned off the lights. "Good night, Rosey. I'm here if you need me."

"Good night, Moony," she responded drowsily. "Thank you for being my friend."

"Thank _you_ ," he answered. "I'm running a bit low on those these days, so I need all the friends I can get."

In the morning, Rose had thought she might feel refreshed, even a trace more cheerful. Instead, she felt hung over. Her head pounded, and her stomach ached. Before Remus came, Rose would have merely rolled over and stared out of the window, but now she got herself, painfully, out of bed and, finding the bathroom occupied, padded out to the kitchen to make tea. Remus was there in a minute, though he seemed to understand how she felt and said nothing. After she'd dressed and washed for the day, they sat down to their tea.

After a breakfast which still had no taste, they sat on her sofa again, side by side, speaking only occasionally. Rose sighed when she realized twenty minutes of silence had gone by. "I'm not very good company, I'm afraid," she said. "And I won't be for I don't know how long. But I'm so grateful you came to see me, Remus."

"I'm glad I came, too. I think we might be the two that feel it the most. And, it's strangely good to be around someone who feels about the same as I do."

"Except for Harry," Rose reminded him, though mentioning his name caused her stomach to clench with guilt. "Harry will be almost as bad, I think."

"I think you're right." They looked to be lapsing into silence again, and then Remus said, "Why don't you visit him, Rose?" Her face must have shown her discomfort, for he added, "I'm sure he'd be glad to see you. He'll be grieving, home with- with a lot of people who won't understand."

"I don't know, Remy," she said, using the French nickname she and Sirius had sometimes given him and making him smile sadly. "I can't imagine he wants to see me just now. After all, it's-" she cleared her throat, "I'm the reason he's lost Sirius. I left him, Remy."

Remus frowned. "I doubt he sees it that way. How do you work out that it's your fault?"

"I was at Grimmauld, instead of at Hogwarts. I wasn't able to talk to him, to reassure him that we were safe, to remind him to use his two-way mirror. He panicked, but understandably. Dumbledore, Minerva, and Hagrid had left him, and then, so had I. I couldn't wait even one more day," and tears clouded her vision. In keeping with her new philosophy, she let them fall, even giving way to a sob or two as her hands covered her face.

Remus put his arm around her again. That observing, separate part of her mind noticed how much more comfortable it was to cry when someone's arm was around her. _Remember that_ , she told herself. "But Rosey," he asked, soothingly, "how could you have known that Harry would need you to stay? He hadn't had a vision like that since Christmas. He didn't ask you to stay, or really even seem to need you, when you left. And anyway, weren't you afraid that Umbridge would sack you if you stayed?"

"That was an excuse," she wept into her hands. Oh, what a relief it was to finally say these things aloud! "I mean, I suppose, she might've done, might have tried to sack me, but I would have thought of some way, I could have avoided her. Severus would have helped. But I just wanted to be with Sirius." Her sobs intensified after she said his name.

Remus squeezed her shoulders. "Sirius needed you too. He told me once that you kept him sane. He could never wait to see you again. I'd never heard him talk about any woman the way he talked about you. I'm glad you loved him; you made him as happy as he could be, under the circumstances. It was love that made you go to Grimmauld, not lack of it. You didn't do anything wrong," he concluded.

Rose did not believe him. But she was deeply moved by his words, and said so. "Perhaps I will go see Harry. It's only cowardice that's keeping me from it, really. And I let cowardice keep me from him for long enough. I can take whatever he needs to say."

"I'm sure he'll be nothing but pleased to see you," Remus assured her.

He left at half eleven, after making bacon sandwiches for them both. "I'll look in on you in a couple of days, Rose. But remember: if you're going to heal, you need to take care of yourself. Eat. Sleep, if you can. Have you got your owl?"

"Yes. Lis has been enjoying hunting in the garden."

"Good. Send her if you need anything. Don't open the door unless you're sure if who's knocking. I think, being that you're in Muggle London, you shouldn't receive any unwelcome visitors."

One more time, Rose hugged him. "Remus. I'm more grateful than I can say. And, I still think it was bigger than I am," holding up a finger against his response, "But that's only because I was trying to face it alone."

The Big Awful gazed at her balefully from within her mind, after he left. Rose spared it a glance; she knew she would have business with it later. But just then, she put some of the blueberries they had bought in a bowl, and began to eat.

1 "What does Remy take in his tea?"

2 "Just a little milk, and no sugar."

3 "My two brothers."

13


	29. Third Flower Chapter 30

Chapter 30: Kin Selection

 **A.N. This chapter takes place on Tuesday, July 9, 1996.**

Harry knew that he probably ought to straighten up his room. If Dumbledore's letter was to be believed, there would be only three more days to his stay at Privet Drive. The untidiness which had accumulated around him had turned into untenable chaos, and would undoubtedly take at least that much time to correct. That letter, read and re-read until it had become completely flat, now lay on his bedside table. In his hand, however, was another letter, which had arrived the evening before.

 _Dear Harry,_ it said, _I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. I have been in London, sorting out my living situation. I have taken a flat in Dalston._

 _I am not sure if you want to see me, or to see anyone just now. I didn't want to see anyone either, but then an unexpected guest dropped by and I found I did want to see someone after all. In case you are in the same state, I will be coming for a visit tomorrow in the early afternoon. If I don't hear from you, I will assume this is not very objectionable to you and will arrive just after lunch. I hope very much that you are well, or as well as you can be._

 _Love._

 _Rose_

It was not that Harry didn't believe that Rose would come. She had never failed to come when she promised before, and unlike Dumbledore, she had not spent the preceding year avoiding the sight of him. No, Harry thought that she probably would come. Nor did he strongly object to her coming, though if anyone asked if he wanted company, he would have given a decidedly negative answer. It was just that his overpowering indifference was heavy on him, so that though he knew he ought to eat more regular meals, and shower, and write letters to Ron and Hermione and, definitely, straighten up his room, Harry was completely without the ability to do anything.

He sat on his bed, where he had sat for so many days, and stared alternately at the letter and at his catastrophically messy room. He was eating, though inconsistently; the trail of crisp wrappers, sweet wrappers, apple cores and toast crumbs that covered his floor bore witness to that. Hedwig snoozed, her head under her wing, in a cage that should strictly have been cleaned four or five days ago. Copies of _The Daily Prophet_ were strewn all over his bed and near it on the floor, and his desk was covered with detritus from his early, half-hearted attempts to address the disaster in his school trunk. There was nowhere that Rose would be able to sit down. The only clear space was on the bed, and he was curled up on it. Still, the tone of her letter made him think she might understand the leaden weight that made his limbs too heavy for anything which did not directly support his survival.

He glanced at his alarm clock and saw the minute hand arrive; one o'clock. He looked at the letter, and was just looking back at the clock when he heard a knock on the Dursleys' front door. The sound seemed to charge him with energy he hadn't known in days. He got up and descended the stairs, but he stopped when he heard his aunt, who had opened the door, say, in a tired voice, "You."

"Me," came Rose's voice, which sounded equally tired. "Hello, Petunia. I'm here to see my nephew."

"His birthday isn't for weeks," Petunia objected, stiffly.

"Oh, yes, I know," Rose sounded mildly apologetic. "But I have reason to think his stay here will be shorter than usual this summer, and I wanted to see him before he left your home. May I come in?"

Petunia must have assented, because there was the sound of Rose entering and shutting the door behind her. Harry remained, concealed at the top of the stairs. There was a lull in their talk, and then Rose said, "Is that Dudley's new school picture?"

"Yes," Petunia responded, shortly.

"He's grown into a young man," Rose observed. "Where is it that he goes to school?"

"Smeltings. It's where his father went."

The floor creaked in front of the mantel. "Oh, and there's a picture of him in his boxing kit. Harry told me he was a boxer. Did he do well this year?"

"He's first in his weight class," Petunia answered, her voice still coolly neutral. Harry was surprised, given the nature of their last conversation, in which Rose drew her wand on Petunia and spoke to her with burning anger, to hear Petunia even deign to answer these questions. He supposed it was impossible for her to hear even an implied compliment about Dudley without answering. But he noticed, too, that Rose's tone sounded much different than it had the previous summer. Then, she had been all cool rage; this time, her voice was resigned, as though she no longer had the energy to form a challenge. Harry's attention returned to their stilted conversation when he heard Rose say his name.

"-Harry been keeping to himself more than usual this summer?"

"He usually stays in his room." Petunia's voice resumed some of its usual snappishness, perhaps from the change from one of her favorite subjects to her very least.

"Yes, but more than usual? Has he been coming down for meals?"

There was a beat, then Petunia answered, "Not very much, no. He's eating," she said hastily, as if she remembered Rose's threats of the previous summer, "But he's doing it in his room. Probably a complete pigsty in there," she added, her usual contempt back in full force.

"You should know he's grieving. We both are. Sirius Black died, a few weeks ago." A brief silence, then Rose added, "Sirius Black, Harry's godfather? James' best fr-"

"I know who he is," Petunia interrupted sharply. They were quiet another moment, then Petunia blurted out, "How?"

"One of Voldemort's people killed him, Bellatrix LeStrange. A Death Eater. His cousin, in fact," Rose's voice was very quiet, but steady as she spoke.

Petunia snorted. "These freaks and their twisted families. It was probably only a matter of time."

"Yes, well," Rose said, coolness returning to her own tone, "It was nice talking to you. I'm going to see Harry, now." As her steps creaked toward the stairs, Harry nimbly raced back up them and headed for his room.

He had only just managed to sit himself back on his bed when Rose's knock came. "Come in," he said, trying to conceal his slight breathlessness. Harry remembered, as he felt his head head spin from the exertion, that he had not eaten yet that day.

Rose entered Harry's room and stood a moment on the threshold, taking in the chaotic state of the room, then focusing in on Harry where he sat, cross-legged, on the bed. Rose herself looked pale and, though it'd been fewer than three weeks since he'd seen her last, noticeably thinner. She looked well-groomed enough, though Harry could see shadows under her eyes which testified to insufficient sleep over a long period of time. As she gazed at him, Harry thought he could make out something other than the obvious exhaustion in her expression. She seemed tentative, as if she was afraid to come closer to him. There was something in her eyes that was very much like guilt. "Hello, Harry," she said quietly, and she continued to stand in the threshold as though waiting for permission to enter.

"Hi," Harry responded, and with an effort, he arranged his face into a small smile. "How- how are you?"

She responded with a very small smile of her own and came into the room, still looking at him searchingly. "Oh, well, you know," she answered. "Probably about the same as you."

"Yeah." Harry dropped his gaze to his litter-strewn floor. Guilt filled him like rising water. Her grief, he knew, was due to his own choices. He had brought her this misery himself, and he could hardly bear to raise his eyes.

She cleared her throat. "I brought you some lunch. I thought you might be hungry for something different."

He forced himself to look up at her and tried to look interested in the large paper bag which she held in one arm.. "Thanks. And, sorry about- all this," he nodded toward the room at large.

Another hint of a smile, and she was clearing off a space for herself on his desk chair. "When did you last have a proper meal?"

He thought back. "Yesterday's breakfast?" he guessed. Her sad smile stretched a bit further. "I eat," he said, a bit defensively. "It's just, meals, food, they don't-"

"They don't have any taste." Rose finished for him. He nodded, and their eyes met for a moment. "Are you sleeping?" she asked, putting the bag down on top of the stack of _Daily Prophets_ on his desk.

"I mean, all right. Some." He looked away from her eyes, which looked all too understanding.

She busied herself for a moment in clearing away the clutter on his desk and setting it in a pile on the floor, before taking from the deli bag a wrapped sandwich, a container of soup, a plastic spoon, a napkin, and a carton of milk. From a cardboard drinks tray with the words Creams Dairy! Printed on the side, she separated two disposable cups with straws. "Milkshakes," she explained. "What would you like first?"

For several minutes, Harry only ate his sandwich and soup in silence while Rose sipped at her milkshake. Somehow, they did not have the tasteless, textureless quality which all food had possessed since he'd left Hogwarts. He noticed as he ate that Rose, who was sitting cross-legged on his chair, was wearing jeans. He had never known her to wear jeans.

When he was finishing the last of his potato soup, Rose warned, "Your stomach might be a bit off, if you haven't been eating much. Mine was, when Remus made me eat. And you're likely to be very tired tonight. If you keep making yourself eat meals, though, you should feel better later on tomorrow." As she took his sandwich wrapper and soup bowl from him, she said in a smaller voice, "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you before. I assumed you wouldn't want to see me. But, I shouldn't assume."

Harry frowned as he handed her his spoon and napkin to throw away. "Why wouldn't I want to see you?" He found he was truly curious, for he had been thinking for some days now that she likely had not been in touch because she did not want to see him, the originator of her unbearable grief.

"Well, because," and his stomach lurched as he saw tears spring to her eyes. "Because I left you, I suppose."

His frown deepened. "Because you- what?"

She took a steadying breath and continued, resting her gaze on a spot on his bed about two feet to Harry's left. "I left you. I went to visit Sirius instead of staying at school, when I knew you had no allies left there. Dumbledore was gone, Hagrid, McGonagall, all gone, and that _garce1_ in charge of the school, and I left. And because I left, you had no one to help you make sense of your vision, no one to check if Sirius was home, no one to put you in contact with the Order. I promised you I'd be there when you needed me, from now on. And instead, I left you, and because of me, you had to risk your life and your friends' lives. Because of me- your godfather is gone." Her voice croaked as she finished this speech, and she swallowed hard. Impatiently, she wiped at the tears which were spilling down her face.

"Because of you?" Harry could hardly form a response to this. "You thought it was your fault?"

"Of course, Harry. Who's fault is it, else? Besides, Bellatrix, that is." Her eyes looked dangerous as she pronounced this name.

Harry shook his head rapidly, blinking. "Mine, of course!" Her expression was skeptical, so he went on. "I was the one who decided to go to London on a mad rescue mission! Hermione tried to warn me, he might be using this to lure me to the Ministry, it might be a trap, but I wouldn't listen. I brought all those people into danger for no reason! We shouldn't have given anyone a reason to go after us, but we went and met Death Eaters, just like Voldemort intended. If it weren't for me, Sirius wouldn't have gone! He wouldn't have- he wouldn't be-" he could not finish the sentence, nor he could he look at her. "I sort of didn't think you'd want to see _me_ , actually," he concluded.

"So all this time," Rose spoke slowly, "you didn't owl me... because you were too miserable, and because you thought I must blame you for Sirius' death?"

"Well, yeah." He nodded and chanced a look at her. She was looking at him thoughtfully, but Harry thought he could make out the barest trace of amusement in her face, too.

"All this time, I have not owled _you_ because I was quite miserable, and because I thought you certainly blamed me for Sirius' death." There was no mistaking it now; her eyes crinkled at the corners in a decidedly waggish fashion. "You know, Harry, the similarities are rather startling. I think we might just be related."

To his own surprise, Harry sniffed out a single chuckle

Rose continued. "For the record, it never occured to me to fault you for going to rescue Sirius- and me? You saw me in the vision, too?" He nodded and looked down, shame lapping at his mind once again. She reached out and put a hand to his arm and he met her eyes. "You did what had to be done, based on what you knew, and based on the help that you had. You did _nothing_ wrong."

Harry did not believe her, but relief that she had not blamed him surged within him. "I didn't blame you either," he returned. "You couldn't have known any of that would happen. Of course you wanted to be with Sirius. It's not _your_ fault." He looked down then, for tears had risen to her eyes again.

"Well," she said, after taking a moment to collect herself. "If it isn't my fault, and it isn't your fault, then I suppose we have nothing to do but to get on to the business of missing him."

Harry sighed. This was a melancholy proposition. His first few days at home had been fueled by his mind feverishly trying to make sense of what had happened, to find out where it had all gone wrong, to find someone, anyone, besides himself to blame. After a while, he'd run out of energy for analyzing and perseverating over the events of June twentieth, and he'd simply slipped into a numb, listless fog. The thought that he would have to face, and one day, accept, the fact that Sirius was gone forever seemed beyond anything anyone could ask of him. Also, as Rose had predicted, he we beginning to feel very drowsy. "I don't seem to know how to do anything anymore," he heard himself saying, apologetically.

Rose squeezed his shoulders once, and said, "Why don't you have a lie down? I can help."

He settled himself gratefully on the bed, lying on his side and watching her as she Vanished the rubbish from their lunch. "Remus came to visit me in my new flat." Harry felt he should ask her about her flat; surely she wanted to tell him about it. He did not have the energy, though so he merely made an interested sort of hum at her. But she only said, "He helped me understand that grieving is too big a project for anyone to do alone."

And Harry watched, dazed, as she strode about the room, levitating things into piles here, Vanishing food wrappers there, Scourgifying and neatly folding his laundry with a gesture of her wand, and generally cleaning and purgating his room. Harry dozed for several minutes, and woke to find Rose reading yesterday's _Prophet_ in his perfectly clean bedroom.

He sat up, feeling a bit woozy. "Thank you. Wow. Thanks, Rose." He rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what's the matter with me."

"I do," she replied, giving him another sad smile as she folded up the newspaper. She did not say more, but merely looked at him with tired eyes.

"So, er, how's your flat?" Harry asked, a bit awkwardly, as he sat up in his bed. "Do you like it?" 

"It's just what I needed, thank you. It's in a Muggle neighborhood. Very green. There's a garden in the back. There are a lot of shops and places to eat on my street. Though," she chuckled a bit wryly, "I can't speak much to their quality, as I haven't really left the flat since I moved in." She shifted a bit uncomfortably on Harry's chair, stretching her legs and her back as she continued. "I wasn't eating either. Or sleeping, much. There were two Order meetings since I moved in. Tonks invited me to tea. Dumbledore owled me. But I didn't stir. I didn't even respond."

"I haven't really left this room since I got home, except to use the bathroom," Harry confessed. "I've gone to maybe four meals this week. Mostly breakfast, because it's quietest."

"Petunia mentioned you'd been missing meals. Where have you been getting the crisps and apples and such?"

"Some of it I nick from the larder at night. Ron and Hermione've sent food, too, with their letters. I need to thank them," he sighed. "I haven't. I haven't written at all. I just- can't."

Rose had gotten to her feet. She stretched, and began to pace, slowly. "I know. I couldn't either. I haven't written anyone. I still don't sleep well. I still can't taste food. The only reason I'm eating, really, is because Remus made me promise I would. And I know I have to. _We_ have to. We need to make ourselves do these things, Harry." She seemed agitated. Harry swung his feet to the floor, leaned against his bed, and watched her, feeling troubled.

She spun around to face him when she came to the door, and feverishly smoothed her hair with her hands. "We have to sleep. We have to eat. We have to live, Harry. We've been through too much not to live through this. We've lost parents, friends, our homes. We can survive this. We _will_ survive this." She had arrived in front of him and was now gripping his arms. "We're going to survive this!" she repeated, and though she spoke heatedly and tears had filled her eyes, there was a firmness to her voice that made him feel, somehow, more awake than he had felt in days.

And then Harry felt his eyes fill and his throat constrict and he knew that he was going to cry, and his horror at the prospect of crying in front of anyone outweighed his disinclination to hug people. So, he hugged her. He was grateful that the crying she was doing against his shoulder probably kept her from noticing his own tears. They stood that way for a minute or so, Harry hardly even breathing to avoid crying, Rose clinging to him and crying openly.

But as Harry's throat began to loosen and as the sob died in his throat, he remembered his last conversation with Dumbledore. "The thing is," he said quietly, "I'm not so sure thatI _will_ survive." And something about the way he said this caused Rose to release him and look into his face, frowning.

"What do you mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Harry took a deep breath. "I heard the prophecy."

Silently, Rose sat down onto the edge of the bed, wiping the rest of her tears away with the back of her hand. Harry sat down next to her and continued. "I saw it, really. Dumbledore had the memory in the Pensieve. It said- well, it said a lot of things, but it said that neither of us, Voldemort and me, neither can live while the other survives. One of us is going to have to kill the other. I'm not sure when, or how, but I don't think I like my chances."

Rose seemed abstracted, as if she were trying to remember something. "I remember the prophecy being made, of course. That was when Lily and James went into hiding, and the whole scare began. The prophecy, by the by, is why I went to Beauxbatons," she added.

Harry frowned; he had not known that. But she shook her head. "I'll tell you more about that another time. All that I remember is that it was because of the prophecy that Voldemort went after you in the first place. And so now you've heard it, and now you think you're doomed?"

Harry sighed. "I mean, I dunno. Maybe. He's definitely a more powerful wizard than I am."

"Did Dumbledore tell you the whole thing?" Rose asked. "How much do you remember?"

In answer, Harry got up, went to his trunk, and withdrew a folded piece of paper. "I've got it here." He handed it to her, and she began to read.

"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…'" She stopped. " _Vanquish_? That sounds promising. I did not know it spoke of your power to vanquish him. 'Thrice defied him…' Lily and James did make a habit of narrowly escaping the Death Eaters. She was very politically active, Lily was, did you know?...Well." Rose continued to read.

"'...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'" She put the paper down and frowned. "But this doesn't sound at all as if you're doomed, Harry. I mean, all right, the 'neither can live while the other survives' bit is a bit intense-"

" _A bit intense_?" Harry repeated in disbelief.

"But look at what comes before: 'the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.' You may not be on his level magically, but he certainly considers you a threat. He always has." Rose was sitting up straight and talking more animatedly than she had that day; her eyes even had something of a sparkle now as she said, "'Power the Dark Lord knows not…' Oh, I like the sound of that. Wait, I need to write this out. Have you got any spare parchment?"

Harry looked around among his newly stacked and organized stacks of parchment and books and found her a quill, ink, and parchment. Rose took them eagerly and sat down at his desk. Curious, Harry stood, leaning against the side of the desk, and watched her work. Rose divided the paper into two vertical columns. In the left hand column, she carefully wrote out the words of the prophecy, writing neatly in a large hand so that the words stretched to the end of the page. On the other side, Rose had written the heading, "Notes," and on this side she began to write.

"'Vanquish' is our key word here. Oh, and 'power.' The first declarative sentence in the thing says you've got the power. You don't need to gain it, you've got it already." Under Notes, she wrote, _With the power: present tense._ Underneath this, she added, _Vanquish: destroy utterly. So, future tense, as 1981 not a full defeat._

Harry watched her write and listened to her commentary with a mixture of fascination and amusement. Here was note-taking worthy of Hermione; he resolved to tell her about Rose's method. But as she continued to annotate the Prophecy which had been haunting his mind vaguely for weeks, Harry found the process made him feel surprisingly comforted. To see the words of the Prophecy written out in his aunt's neat hand, with analysis and a decidedly hopefully interpretation balanced like a bank ledger, made him feel better than he'd felt since the nineteenth of June.

Now Rose was adding to Notes, _power...knows not_ : _same power as before? Unknown to V. so not a question of degree but of quality._ "You see, it's not a question of being as skillful as Voldemort, Harry, your power is something he has no knowledge of at all." She continued down the text and added in the Notes column, _Neither can live… paradox. Either/or, not both/and?_ And _Survive. Survivant._ Then, she put the quill down.

"Well. On the whole, Harry, I think the picture looks quite promising. This line-" she pointed to _Neither can live while the other survives_ \- "could be interpreted to mean, neither can rest until they finish the other. Or, that your lives won't be fully your own until the other is destroyed. And all the rest of it points to doom for Voldemort." She looked him in the eye, and he saw more animation in her face than he'd seen that day. "I think you're going to win, Harry."

Harry did not quite know what to say to this. He appreciated her confidence, but all the same, he felt it was rather easy to say this when you, yourself, were not the subject of such a prophecy. "I mean, I hope so. I'd feel better if I knew what this supposed power I have actually is. Dumbledore-" and he hesitated.

"Dumbledore what? What does Dumbledore think?" she asked quickly.

"He thinks…" Harry was embarrassed, but continued, "He thinks it's love. The power, I mean. Voldemort can't love, and I can, and all that."

"Of course." Rose breathed, looking transfixed.

"If that's it, it's not much of a power," Harry muttered.

Rose shook her head fervently. " _Foutaise_. Harry, I spent rather a lot of time at the Department of Mysteries this year. They study Time, and Memory, and- and Death, there." She swallowed, and he knew she was thinking of the veiled archway. They looked at each other briefly. "And," she continued, "In another room they study Love. It is the only room in the Department into which I never wandered, because it is always locked, magically locked so that only those concerned in the projects of that room can enter. As I understand it, from talking with Tonks and some others, this is because the human subjects of their studies are considered too dangerous to be allowed to roam free. I wouldn't underestimate Love, Harry. It's the most powerful mystery in the place. Yes, more powerful even than Death." She had tears in her eyes again. He found he was getting used to this, however, and did not look away this time.

"There was a room that we couldn't enter," he said, remembering the feeling in his stomach when he'd pulled away the handle of Sirius' knife. "We tried to use Sirius' knife to open it… The blade melted."

Rose nodded. "Yes, it would do that. There are a great many protections placed on that room, because what it contains is considered powerful to the point of dangerousness. If that is indeed the power which Voldemort knows not…" she took a breath and let it out slowly. "You're going to win," she said again. Harry could only look at her. He was far from sharing her conviction, but it did not seem possible to argue with her just now; she looked too transported.

"Do you know what they call you in France, Harry?" she asked him suddenly.

He shook his head. "Er- no. What do they…?"

"Well, at first, they imitated the English and called you _le garçon qui a survécu_ ; that is, The Boy Who Lived, or Survived, to be precise. But over time a new nickname surpassed that one in popularity. Now when French-speaking people refer to Harry Potter, universally they call you _Le Survivant_. That means-"

"The Survivor," he interrupted.

"The Survivor," she agreed. "And, I like that better. 'The Boy Who Lived' refers to one event, a closed action in time. Halloween, 1981, one thing, on one day. Past perfect tense. But _Le Survivant_ is who you are. What you did that day, living through the killing curse, and what Lily did for you, it's more than one event. It's become part of who you are. Present tense. Future tense. It's your very identity, Harry."

Harry sat for a minute in silence, absorbing this. He had been so occupied in considering the line about not being able to live while Voldemort survived, in the weeks since he'd heard it, that he'd only given scant attention to the rest of the prophecy. It would not have occurred to him, either, to have looked for much meaning in the tenses of verbs. But more potent to him at that moment were the fervor in Rose's expression, the energy in her voice, and the actual fact of her presence in his room, at his desk, writing out his problems into neat lines and working through them alongside him. Dumbledore had elucidated a great deal to him during that long night in his office. But Rose seemed to be working with him, rather than talking down to him from a height of experience and wisdom. He wished he were not too embarrassed to tell her what it meant to him.

Instead, he gave her a small smile and said, "Thank you for doing this. And for coming by. And for the food. Thanks, Rose."

She stood and briefly hugged him again. "I'm only sorry I didn't come sooner. But at least you won't have to be here much longer."

"Yeah, I know, Dumbledore wrote me. So, is he really coming?" Harry began to shift through the papers on the floor beside his desk; now that she had cleaned it, he hardly knew where anything was anymore.

"His letter is on top of that pile there," Rose pointed, "if that's what you're after. And, I believe he plans to come on Friday, yes. He told me in one of the many letters I ignored last week. You're going to The Burrow. You'll enjoy that, won't you?"

Harry retrieved the letter and scanned it idly as he answered. "You know, I didn't think I cared, when I got the letter. But maybe. Yes. I'd like to see Ron."

"Speaking of the Burrow," Rose said cautiously. "The Weasleys have kindly offered a place in their back garden for a little memorial stone for Sirius. I think Sirius would like to have been buried at Godric's Hollow, near your parents. But of course, we have nothing to bury, and given everything that's happening with the War, the Order didn't think it prudent to conduct a service at Godric's Hollow. Personally, I plan to take a trip to The Channel one day, sailing, to remember him. He-" she swallowed. "He always wanted to do that. Maybe… maybe someday, you'll go with me."

"I'd like that," he said quietly.

"Good. It will be an adventure to remember," she said, a bit shakily. "Well, anyway, in two weeks we'll have a little service, just an opportunity to remember Sirius together, at The Burrow. I won't pretend I'm not dreading it. But I think it is important. Have you cried yet?" she asked with a quick look at him.

Harry had not been anticipating the question. He stammered a bit in his answer. "Er, no, that is, not really. Not very much. I- I don't really-"

"You don't like to cry," she stated. He nodded once in acquiescence, and she sighed. "I know. Nor did I. I still don't. But I have come to suspect, after living through the last weeks, that the only way out of this," and here she clutched at her chest with claw-like hands, bringing all their pain and grief to Harry's mind with the gesture, "is through."

They spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in Harry's room, reading _The Prophet_ and analyzing it contemptuously, talking about Hogwarts, and, for a surprisingly enjoyable forty-five minutes, making another attempt at playing _Tekken_ on Dudley's repaired Playstation. At six o'clock, they could make out the sound of Petunia setting the table. Rose stood.

"We both have to eat," she said. "And I haven't been invited to dinner. I'm not holding my breath waiting for an invitation, either," she added, dryly. He snorted out a laugh.

"I'll see you soon, at the Burrow. And- listen, Harry," she began to look uncomfortable now. "Sirius rather inadvertently taught me the value of telling people this. Even if you think you'll embarrass yourself, or them. So-" she put her hands on his shoulders. "I love you, Harry. You're important to me." She spoke softly. Harry felt his eyes sting and he turned his head quickly. She released him and chuckled. "I'm sorry to have embarrassed you."

"I'm not embarrassed," he lied. "I'm just- I'm tired. I love you too, Rose," he answered, looking at the floor. He was not interested in telling her this now, but no one had ever said those precise words to him, in his memory. He knew, of course, that his friends, that the Weasleys, Dumbledore, and Sirius did- had- loved him, but it just wasn't the sort of thing most people said. As uncomfortable as he felt, he was grateful, too. After all he had lost, he still had family.

Harry saw Rose to the door. Petunia stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking extremely ready to refuse to invite Rose to dinner. But Rose only walked to her and offered her a hand to shake. Petunia, after a second, clasped it briefly. "His room is clean, now," was all Rose said, before she turned, smiled at Harry, and left Privet Drive.

1 "bitch"

14


	30. Third Flower Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Rain

 **We begin on the evening of July 22, 1996. The memorial for Sirius takes place on the next evening, July 23rd.**

 **I promise that there will be an end to the gloom!**

The sun was low in the sky in Devonshire. It was the golden hour, before the colors of sunset, but long after the heat of the day has given way. Fleet upon fleet of clouds sailed steadily across an exceptionally blue sky. Rose had apparated minutes before just outside the wards which had been set outside the Weasley's further garden; their rather architecturally disordered house towered before her. From it, she could make out the sound of Molly's voice, shouting at one or other or her children. Nearer, chickens chucked and chattered in the yard, and woodpigeons cooed from the roof of the shed. She was expected for dinner. But instead of making straight for the Burrow's cheerful green door, Rose lingered by the garden, gazing at a spot between the holly bushes that bordered the garden, and thinking about Remus Lupin.

He had been to see her twice since his first overnight visit to her flat. Once, the day after her visit to Harry, and once, the previous evening. He'd eaten with her on the first visit, brought a covered dish of shepherd's pie from Molly Weasley, and talked over her visit with Harry. Remus had been gently amused at hearing that both she and Harry had been blaming themselves for Sirius' death. "It appears to be a family trait," he had agreed. "But I'm glad you went, Rose. Missing Sirius is going to be far too great a task to do alone."

When he'd come last night, though, he'd stayed only a little more than an hour. After asking her sternly if she was still eating, and learning that she was, he'd moved on to discussing the memorial the Order had planned for Sirius. "It will be quiet, no ceremony. We'll just share some things we loved about Sirius, remember good times. It won't be enough," he sighed. "But, it will be something."

"More than that, there will be a place. I need somewhere to go, to- to talk to him," she'd finished in a whisper, and he'd nodded to show that he understood. She had gone on, then, in a firmer voice. "I'd love to have that tea with Tonks, Remus. You know she sent me a Patronus weeks ago. I can't send one back. I can owl her, of course, but I thought perhaps you would see her sooner than Lis could fly? Would you tell her for me?"

"You can tell her yourself," he'd said, suddenly refusing to meet her eyes. "She'll be at Molly's for dinner tomorrow, too."

"Oh. That's good, I can do that. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Remus was still looking away as he answered. "Er, no. I won't be there. I've got… something I'm working on. For the Order."

"Ah. I see. Well," Rose grasped, trying to get at what might be bothering him, "How has Tonks been? Is she well?"

"As far as I know, she is," he evaded. When she looked at him sharply, he returned his eyes to her, then sighed. "I haven't seen her for a couple of weeks," he admitted.

They looked at one another, Remus looking uncomfortable, Rose, suspicious. After a moment in which neither of them spoke, Rose narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"

He sighed. "We had a- difficult conversation. She isn't happy with the outcome."

"Ah." Rose had known this crisis would come, eventually. She and Sirius often speculated as to how long it would take for either Remus or Tonks to make a move toward the other. She remembered, with a stab, that the last thing either of them had said on the subject was back in April, when Sirius said, "It'll be her, ten galleons to one. Let's hope she just snogs him, like you did me. It'd save a lot of time."

With difficulty, Rose dragged her mind back to the present and said, "Well, so, she's told you how she feels about you." Remus flushed slightly, but nodded. "And you don't feel the same," Rose finished, regretfully. "Well, it's better she know it now. I can't help but be surprised, though, Remus-"

"It's not that," he interrupted her. She looked up at him, startled, and saw that he was now positively radiating heat. "It's not that I don't feel for her- what she feels. But it simply can't be. She will have to see that. She _will_ see it, in time."

"And why can't it be, exactly?" She was being disingenuous, of course; she knew his reasons, she just disapproved of them.

"She's thirteen years younger than me," Remus ticked off one of his fingers, sounding as if he'd been practicing this list, "I'm unable to support a family or even keep a real job for more than a few months at a time, and, oh yes, each month I transform into a deadly monster." He glared at her, daring her to argue.

She surprised him utterly by laughing out loud. "Oh, how alike you Marauders are. Do you know, Sirius tried to give me the same speech. He couldn't be with me, I shouldn't have fallen in love with him, because didn't I know that he was a wanted criminal, who couldn't work and couldn't marry and couldn't even leave the house? As if I was a child, incapable of counting the cost of my decisions."

"It isn't the same," Remus said firmly. "Sirius wasn't actually dangerous in himself. And his situation wasn't going to be permanent. He might have been proven innocent at any time; my condition is for life. For all I know, it is transferable to children. This condition is not compatible with marriage."

Rose made a scornful noise, but he shook his head. "I'm not in the mood to have this argument over again. We've discussed it, it's finished. Tonks will be far better off this way; she just needs a little while to get over it."

It was Rose's turn to sigh, and she shook her head. Remus had looked exasperated, but Rose put her hand on his arm. "Remy, if I were in love with you, I wouldn't get over it in a little while." He met her eyes at that. "Fortunately for us both, I am not in love with you. But Tonks is, and I don't think you're giving her enough credit." When he rubbed his eyes and opened his mouth to argue, she had simply patted his arm and said, "Let's leave it at that, for now."

She had watched him go with a heavy heart, and now, standing in the Weasleys' further garden, taking in the country peace of the place, she thought how lonely it was to finally be ready to spend time with Remus and Tonks, her friends, only to find that she must now do so separately. She wished very much that Remus was going to be at dinner that night. As fond as she felt of everyone who would be at dinner, it would be a large, bustling family party. And the thought of it made her want to Disapparate right back to her flat.

 _Still,_ she reminded herself, _Harry is in there. I do want to see how he's holding up._ So she squared her shoulders and walked the rest of the way to the Weasleys' door.

It was Ginny who answered the door. Rose found herself smiling at the sight of her familiar face and self-assured expression. "Hi, Rose. Glad you could make it." Rose hugged her briefly and stepped into the house. "Mum's in the kitchen," Ginny explained, "and you can put those down in there," nodding at the wine and sweetbread Rose had tucked under her arm.

In the kitchen, Molly was humming to herself as she waved her wand over the potato peeler, causing it to begin peeling potatoes of its own accord. She spun around when she heard Rose's quiet, "Good evening, Molly," and wiped her hands on her apron before embracing Rose warmly. "Rose, dear, so good to see you."

Something about Molly's warm, sturdy arms around Rose's tired frame brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away hastily and said, "Thank you for inviting me to your home! I've brought some wine, and some sweetbread from the bakery on my street."

"I'd heard you'd got a new flat in London!" Molly said, releasing her and briskly putting the bread on top of the breadbox and the wine on the table. "What's the neighborhood like, then? Busy?"

"It's just what I wanted," Rose replied. "There are plenty of shops and restaurants, and I can get the Tube from a couple of blocks away, if I want it. It's busy, in a Muggle neighborhood, so Apparating can be a bit tricky. I tend to go to the little garden behind my building to do it."

"Oh, a garden! Those can be rare in London, I'm told," Molly said, resuming her usual bustle about the kitchen. Rose, who always felt awkward in other peoples' kitchens (with the singular exception of Grimmauld Place), stood near the window and tried not to take up too much space.

"I felt very lucky to have found something suitable so quickly," she said, slowly. "I wanted to move my things as soon as I could do. It's been… surprisingly quiet."

Molly paused in the act of seasoning the meat to throw her a sympathetic glance. "I wonder that you were willing to come and eat with my rowdy brood, when I'm sure you'd rather be somewhere quiet. These have been hard weeks for you, I know."

Rose nodded. "They have. But it is time for me to be doing, now. And anyway, I wanted to look in on Harry. He's not been having an easy time of it, either."

Molly sighed. "No, of course not. He was his godfather, after all. I know they were very fond of each other. But he was your sweetheart, wasn't he?" Rose was not able to answer immediately, but her expression apparently answered the question sufficiently for Molly. She continued, "We've long suspected you two were an item. I'd been so happy to think that he was happy again, after all his trouble. Now, I know you think I didn't like him," she added as she placed the now seasoned chicken back into the oven, "And I won't pretend I didn't sometimes find him exasperating. But really, I find my own sons exasperating enough, and I love them endlessly. Sirius was a good man, very brave and very loyal. We were all rather hoping he'd marry you, Rose," she finished, sorrowfully.

Rose still didn't find herself equal to speech. But as the two women gazed at each other, Rose reached slowly into the neck of her dress and pulled out the chain which held the sapphire ring. Molly's brown eyes widened, and tears sprang into them. "Oh, my poor dear!" she said in a choked voice, and suddenly they were in each other's arms.

Rose let the tears come, this time. She did not like crying any more than she had done last month, when her sobs had threatened to break her in the shower. It still seemed an unpardonable loss of control. Though she had cried several times since then, including (she was still embarrassed when she remembered it) into Harry's shoulder two weeks before, she still had to endure a wave of panic every time she began to cry in earnest. But Remus had said it was necessary, and she believed him, so she had come up with a new mental trick to help herself through the anxiety. Instead of a full moon, Rose had begun to picture a seed in soil, a sprouting plant which could only be watered by her tears. If she watered it enough, Rose told herself, it would one day be a flowering, flourishing bush, and would need her tears no longer. She pictured the tiny green leaf, surrounded by dark soil, as the tears slide down her cheeks and onto Molly's broad shoulder.

They were interrupted by a lilting voice from the sitting room. "Molly, I 'ave told zee children zat zey are to come set zee table, as you 'ave asked." Fleur Delacour, silvery hair sweeping behind her, came striding into the kitchen where Rose and Molly had broken apart hastily. Rose wiped her eyes and wondered, as she often did, how Fleur could wear her hair loose as she did, all the time, and yet never appear disheveled or disorderly. She beamed at Rose when she saw her. Over her shoulder, Molly discreetly rolled her eyes at Rose before turning toward the young woman.

" _Mademoiselle_ Evans! _Content de te revoir!"1_ She kissed Rose twice on each cheek, which greeting Rose returned placidly.

" _Bonsoir, Fleur chère. Comment ça va_?"2 Rose glanced at Molly, conscious of the rudeness of launching into extended conversation in a language which her host did not understand. "Supposing we step into the garden and catch up before dinner?" Rose suggested, switching to English.

"Oh, of course," Fleur said, with a dazzling smile. "Eef zees is _agréable_ for _ma belle-mère-_ " looking at Molly, who nodded, _a bit too enthusiastically_ , Rose observed, amused.

The two strolled out to the garden arm in arm, Fleur chattering fluently. She seemed quite relieved to be able to speak French to someone; it seemed to Rose rather as if a long-awaited rain was breaking over her.

"I am living with the Weasleys just for the summer; I don't think I could stand to stay there longer. In the fall I'll go back to my flat in London. But you have a flat in London, do you not? We must visit together! How is the shopping? Where do you live?" Without waiting for an answer, "But you must be wondering why I am living with the Weasleys at all. Aren't you? Guess." Her blue eyes sparkled, but again, she gave Rose no chance to reply. "I am going to marry Bill! The Weasleys' oldest son, the handsome banker at Gringotts. Did you know I met him during the Triwizard Tournament, when I was only a child? Two full years ago! I took to him at once. Obviously, he is very good-looking, very intelligent, very successful and all that. But do you know what I like best about him? He does not fawn over me because I am Veela. He listens to what I say. He wants my opinions. He is so brave, and so clever, and I could not love anyone more. And what with all that is happening, well, we just don't want to wait. I am sure you can understand? Or do you think, like everyone else seems to think, that I am too young?" Fleur's chin jutted out and she seemed to dare Rose to oppose her.

Rose shook her head, feeling as she did the gentle weight of Sirius' ring resting on her chest. "I think if you have found the right man, and you are ready, then no one can tell you that you are not," she answered softly, and Fleur beamed at her.

"That's what I say! I will never find another like Bill, who is so respectful and so good. So, I am staying with the family to get to know them a little and I must say, I think I know them well enough to be getting on with! Perhaps it is because the house is so crowded. I cannot imagine what it is like when everybody is home. Seven children! It just seems excessive, irresponsible, don't you think? I will certainly not have so many. Bill does not expect it. But the two youngest Weasleys are home, and little Hermione, and of course, your dear nephew, who arrived some ten days ago. He is very polite, Harry is. I will never forget how he saved Gabrielle, when she was not his hostage. You must be very proud of him, Miss Evans, are you not?" Fleur actually took a breath this time, so that Rose was able to say, with a genuine smile,

"Yes, I am. I think very highly of my nephew."

"As you should!" Fleur nodded once. "But really, the house would not seem so small if it weren't for my dear mother-in-law to be. She hates me. Well, all women and girls hate me; it is the fate of the Veela to be hated by jealous women, just as they are flattered and fawned over by besotted men. It is our curse," she said seriously, though not without some discernible pride. "But Molly Weasley hates me more than most. I can do nothing right, you know, and she is constantly trying to entice Bill to show interest in that Tonks," Fleur wrinkled her lovely nose.

"Well, she _is_ barking up the wrong tree, there," Rose agreed.

"Oh, does she like women? I'm not surprised," Fleur said, with a shade of distaste that made Rose remember that she did not always like her.

"No, it isn't that," said Rose, allowing a little coolness into her voice. "It is only that I believe her affections to be engaged elsewhere."

"Ah, I see, I see. Well, then Molly will have to learn of it soon and stop trying to bring Tonks around for meals. Will you tell Molly that Tonks is in love with someone else? You could just let it slip, give a hint-?"

"I think if Molly does not already know, then it is not my place to tell her. It is… a delicate situation," Rose said, cagily.

"Hm. Well. It will have to come out sometime. Tonks clearly doesn't want to see anyone, anyway; she's been in a dismal mood every time she comes around. Hardly a thing to say for herself, and she's let her hair get so mousy and gray. That is not the way to get a man's attention; you might tell her that. Maybe you can give her some help with her appearance. I know she would not take advice from _me_." Fleur rolled her eyes; Rose marveled that managed to make even this grimace look pretty.

"I certainly do plan to speak to her," Rose evaded, smiling. They had reached the far garden now and were approaching the frog pond, which reflected the pinkening sky. For a moment, both women were quiet, breathing in the evening peace. Then Fleur spoke, in a gentler tone than she had been using before.

"I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your loss. I know that Sirius Black was your sweetheart. Bill says he was clever and brave, and that he was very attached to you. I am so very sorry, Miss Evans."

Rose found that, while she was not visited by tears at this speech, she was rather moved. She didn't think she had ever heard Fleur say something so obviously heartfelt. They were still arm in arm, and Rose patted Fleur's slender hand. "Thank you, Fleur." Sighing, she added, "It will be a long road for me, I fear."

"I can only imagine… If something happened to Bill, I think I would run mad. I do not know what I would do." Fleur shivered, and squeezed Rose's arm. She glanced at the sinking sun, then. "My dear mother-in-law will be wanting us indoors, again, for another rustic meal. I sometimes think the food is the hardest thing to bear in this arrangement, Miss Evans! The English have a relationship with the potato that I will never understand. Do you long for France, yourself?"

"For some things, yes. I feel that I can only get properly warm here for about two months of the year, for one thing. I miss traveling. And, I have missed speaking French. But now that you are here, there's that problem solved!" The two shared a smile, just as they reached the door. Inside, Mrs. Weasley's voice was shouting, "GINNY! RON! I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO TELL YOU AGAIN! DINNER IS READY AND THE TABLE WANTS SETTING!"

Fleur rolled her eyes again, but Rose touched her arm and said, "You know, for all that may divide you, you and Molly have something important in common."

"And what could that be, pray?" Fleur looked ready to argue.

"Bill," Rose said simply. "You both love Bill, and I'm sure your love for him will be the thing that wins over your mother-in-law-to-be. Be patient, dear."

Fleur listened seriously, then nodded once. She leaned over to whisper, "I'm so glad you're here!" before stepping into the house.

Inside, they found Mr. Weasley, freshly home from the Ministry, Tonks, looking as colorless and dull as had been reported, and all the young people who had been upstairs. Rose smiled at Tonks, but went straight for Harry, who was helping Ron distribute water glasses. "There he is," she said, sweeping him into a hug. "You're looking very well," she said as she let him go, looking at him appraisingly. He had more color in his face and seemed less peaky. He had also clearly resumed showering.

Harry gave her a crooked smile before returning to his task. "Thank you, _Tata_ ," he answered, as Rose turned to embrace Hermione.

"We've heard a great deal of praise for Sirius tonight," Remus said with his hands in his pockets, looking at the grass. "We've heard that he was brave, that he was intelligent, that he was a remarkable wizard who innovated and inspired and impressed many of us over the years. We've heard about his fortitude when he was wrongfully imprisoned, his intrepidity in being the first known person to escape Azkaban, and of his laudable determination to fulfill his duties as godfather upon his escape." He nodded at Harry, who was gazing at his own shoes even more determinedly than before.

"But the thing that I loved most about Sirius," Remus went on, after clearing his throat and receiving a bracing clasp on the shoulder from Arthur Weasley, "was that he was such an incredibly loyal friend. All of you know that I was bitten and became a werewolf when I was five years old. I entered Hogwarts at eleven with perhaps more than the usual amount of apprehension, for in addition to having to learn Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration, in addition to having to learn the ways of the staircases and ghosts, and in addition to having to learn to get on with my classmates, I had a terrible secret to keep. I was certain, beyond a doubt, that should my secret be discovered I would lose everything, all my new friends. And, should it be generally known that I was a werewolf, I had no doubt I would quickly be expelled." Professor Dumbledore, who had stood at the edge of the little assembly looking quiet and grave, gave a slight, pained smile at this.

Remus continued, "But as so often happens, I had too low an opinion of the people around me. James and Sirius had been suspicious almost since the beginning, never fully believing my stories of a very sick mother who miraculously recovered after my monthly visits. In our third year, they discovered, through stealth and an utter disregard for curfew, where I was going each month, and they deduced what I was before Christmas. I can still remember how my stomach sank when they confronted me with it. But Sirius said-" and here Remus smiled, remembering- "He said, 'This is the coolest possible outcome! We're probably the only students in the history of Hogwarts to be best mates with a werewolf!' He threw his arms around me, then. I was still in shock that he spoke of our friendship in the present tense. And then he said, 'We're perfectly fine with you being a werewolf, you silly ass. What we're not fine with is letting you do it all on your own!'" There was a smattering of laughter here. Molly Weasley dabbed at her eyes.

After a moment in which he wrestled with a smile that seemed to cause him physical pain, Remus went on. "It was Sirius who first suggested becoming Animagi as a solution to the problem of my solitude during transformations. James and Sirius researched and lost sleep and went through the arduous process of becoming Animagi as fifteen year old students, while still managing to keep their work a complete secret. They gave years of my life back to me. I'll never be able to repay them. Sirius in particular dared the disapproval, abuse, and rejection of his family for his friends. He risked his life for the people he loved, without a second thought. I pray his spirit stays with us. We will need his loyalty and love more than ever in the times to come." Remus bowed his head, apparently unable to speak further.

He had been the last of several people to speak, and the drizzle had only come thicker as he spoke. So Rose was not surprised when, after a few moments of silence, people began to murmur final condolences and good-byes and to turn and walk back toward the house. Rose heard Harry's strained voice say, "Good-bye, Sirius," and her heart throbbed at the sound. His hands were in his pockets, and he gazed at the stone by which they had chosen to remember Sirius with a ferocity that told her he was very close to tears. Before long, he and Remus and Rose were the only ones remaining in the garden.

After a few seconds of silence, Harry seemed to realize the other two were not leaving and he lifted his head with a jerk. "I'm going for a walk," he muttered, then turned and walked off in the direction of the outbuildings. Remus turned to Rose and squeezed her shoulders. "I'll be heading home," he told her. "I'll see you soon, Rosey."

"You don't want time to yourself?" she asked him quietly.

"I was out here this morning," he replied. "It's your turn." She swallowed, but nodded, and he nodded back. "Don't forget to eat," he added, before strolling off toward the Apparition point.

And then Rose was alone with the smooth, grey stone at the edge of the garden. She had been using her wand, as several others had also done, to propel air into a makeshift umbrella against the drizzle. Now, she stopped the flow of air with a flick and directed it instead to her hat. " _Impervious_ ," she commanded, and then she sat down on the little wooden bench which Dumbledore had conjured for the occasion. The stone was simple, rectangular, with a pawprint on one corner and the words _In Memory of Sirius Black, Marauder, Godfather, and Friend_ , on the other side. It looked far too staid to belong to him. In Rose's mind, Sirius was always moving, and his flashing eyes were never still.

"Paddy," she whispered, and then for a long time nothing came to her but sobs.

After a time, Rose realized that her sobs were slowing, her vision clearing. She still hated the experience of crying, though the lightness she often felt afterwards had gone a long way toward convincing her of the necessity. Now, however, she only felt drained.

"Paddy," she said again. "It doesn't seem fair. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, and you're not even here to help me. It's really your fault. _Connard._ "3

She imagined him then, sitting before her, perhaps on his knees, looking affectedly contrite as he did when she pretended to be angry with him at Grimmauld. She could see him so clearly in her mind's eye, grey eyes snapping at her, a smile playing at his lips. Somehow, she could not imagine what he would say to her in response to this speech; she just felt certain of his expression.

"You had to go, didn't you? You had to leave the house, you had to duel Bellatrix, you had to get one more hex in before Dumbledore captured her, didn't you? I hope Lily really does nail you to the ceiling by your balls." The Sirius in her mind threw back his head and laughed, and Rose sat forward on the bench and leaned her arms onto her knees. Somehow, talking to him in this way made her feel closer to him than she had since his death. "My love, what am I to do?" She put her head in her hands and strained her mind for an answer that he might give. "I have my flat," she began, when nothing else came to her. "Dumbledore has assured me I still have my job. I can help the Order; I know I can. I can be a friend to Tonks, to Remy, to Fleur. But I don't know how to _want_ anything anymore. And I'm certain I'll never cast a Patronus without you. All my best memories are ruined, now."

He would not let this assertion stand; she knew he would not. She imagined him arguing with her, insisting perhaps that she had good memories that did not involve him, and that she was sure to make good memories in the future. But she shook her head. "It's no good, Paddy, I can't believe it now. Everything that used to have color is pale. Only-" and she closed her eyes, imagining that room in her heart that had previously been so warm and bright when Sirius had been there. It was dim now. But as she concentrated, lingering in the space, she saw that it was not altogether empty. Colorless and cold as her heart felt, there still seemed to be several dim forms there, each emitting a dull glow. The brightest of the relatively dark figures, she knew, was Harry.

"I have Harry," she whispered, opening her eyes, and the Sirius in her mind nodded encouragingly. "True. And that is more than I had in France, I know it is. And, there is Remus. And Tonks, yes. But… my love, you were like the sun to me." At this, she imagined that he would look sad. Many times he had told her that she lit up Grimmauld Place for him. But she had not understood how much light he shed on her life, too.

For a while, she imagined all the things she had looked forward to, dreams they had fondly spun together, which were lost to her now. They seemed to file past her like a parade, and she grew more and more despondent. "I just don't know what to do," she whispered.

And then, she knew without a doubt what he would say. She knew, because he had said it before, the first request he had ever made of her. "Harry," she said aloud. "Those were our priorities. Harry first, then us, then your freedom. Well, two of those we need not worry about. You have your freedom now, _mon coeur_." Her voice broke then, but she composed herself. She could weep anytime. Somehow she knew this conversation needed to happen now.

"Well. But your freedom is gained at the price of your ability to look after Harry. He's lost his godfather. He'll have his aunt, though, Sirius. He'll have me. I swear it." She stood now, feeling she was making a kind of vow. "But you must promise me something, Sirius Black. You owe me." She pictured his expression now, one eyebrow raised, smiling with his eyes, so vividly that she almost reached out to touch his face. "You have to help me," she whispered. "Find a way to stay with me somehow, to help me miss you. I can't do it without you."

She closed her eyes and returned her thoughts to that space in her heart where the figures stood. It seemed haunted in its darkness. But then, whether from her memory or from some other source she did not know, she heard a caressing whisper. " _Mademoiselle,"_ it said, and she shivered. It was the same tone she'd heard in the whisper that came from behind the veil. _"Mademoiselle,"_ the voice said again, but this time she heard the tenderness it contained and she did not shiver. She was still not sure if she heard it with her ears or only with her mind ( _but if I did hear it in my mind, why should that mean that it is not real-?)_ but she felt she had been answered.

Rose resumed her seat on the bench and stayed there with her thoughts for long enough that the drizzle slowed to a stop. The sky slowly cleared; one or two woodpigeons resumed their mournful cooing from the shed. Then, Rose heard the snap of a twig behind her and turned. Harry stood there, soaking wet, looking red-nosed and lost. She smiled at him, wanly at first, and then more genuinely when he wiped his face and tried to return the smile.

"Haven't they taught you an Impervious Charm at school, yet?" Rose asked him, but answered herself at his grimace. "Of course, of course. I keep forgetting you're not seventeen yet." She jumped to her feet and applied her wand to him. _"Sicco,"_ she intoned, and watched the steam ribboning off his clothing as it dried.

"Thanks," he said, in a hoarse voice.

"Of course," she replied, and sat back down on the bench. He sat beside her. Neither of them spoke again for at least a quarter of an hour. When Rose noticed that the daylight, such as it was, was nearly gone, she stood and held out her arm to Harry. He slowly stood too, and she gave him a one-armed hug before they strolled slowly back toward the Weasleys' house, ready to rejoin the world.

1 "Miss Evans! It's good to see you!"

2 "Good evening, Fleur dear. How have you been?"

3 "Asshole."


	31. Third Flower Chapter 32

Chapter 32: Weathering

 **A.N. I apologize fervently for the long wait between chapters. It has been a busy month in my household, and there has been little time or energy left to me to write. I should be getting back into a routine now, though!**

 **Most of this chapter takes place on September 1, but the last section happens on September 2nd, in the evening. Enjoy!**

"So anyway, he just said, 'I think it would be better if we didn't see each other for a while. I think you'll be better off,' and then he Disapparated! I haven't left it at that, of course. I'm not going to make it that easy for him," Tonks laughed bitterly, running a hand through her mousy hair.

"How have you tried to contact him?" Rose asked, shifting in her seat. Really, the benches at The Three Broomsticks left a great deal to be desired when it came to long-term comfort.

"Oh, I owled him. And I sent him a Patronus. Once I even went to house unannounced. I waited for hours, eventually stretched out on his sofa. I love that sofa; it's green and corduroy and makes the most delicious sound when you run your hands over it. I fell asleep running my fingernails through the fabric. But when I woke up, it was morning. He still hadn't come."

Rose clucked sympathetically. "Is he not living there anymore? Or is he that good at avoiding you?"

"Well, that's just it, I don't know!" Tonks moaned. "I'd like to think he's not so desperate to avoid the sight of me that'd he'd move house, but I don't know what he's doing these days. I know he's got the new assignment for the Order, but his house seemed like he'd been there within the week. The milk was fresh."

"Where's he been spending... _full moons_?" Rose leaned forward and whispered the final phrase of her sentence.

Tonks was stirring her tea without seeming to see it. "The last time I knew that was the one on July first. He went to Grimmauld; used the room where Buckbeak stayed." Buckbeak had been surreptitiously returned to the Hogwarts grounds in the days after Sirius' death. So far, their belief that the new Minister of Magic would have better things to do than to look into the return of a condemned hippogriff had proved true. "We'd got some Wolfsbane from some money Sirius left him, but he didn't buy that much. Said he didn't think it a good use of money, relieving him of something that happened every month." Tonks rolled her eyes. "But he never thought he was worth trouble nor money, the idiot."

Rose, who had not missed the affection in Tonk's words, reached out to squeeze her hand. "I saw him at the mid-August meeting, the one you couldn't make. He arrived late, and only lingered to ask me if I was all right, and still eating. Then he said he had to get back to his mission, and left. He seems to be avoiding me, too. I think he senses a confederacy against him."

"I know Dumbledore had a job for him," Tonks said, frowning. "I think it must involve going further afield with the werewolves at the camp, but I don't know the details, or exactly where the camp is, besides that it's somewhere in Yorkshire. S'pose he didn't want me trying to find him."

"Would you have tried to find him? In a werewolf camp?"

Tonks folded her arms. "Absolutely." She shook her head and sighed, giving her now cold tea another stir. "He'll be working himself sick out there, mark me."

She went quiet, staring out of the window at the fast-falling night. Rose imagined Remus out at the camp on a bleak moor, perhaps huddled around a fire with nameless, miserable others, and her heart ached. Then she looked back at Tonks, who had circles under her eyes and who was pulling a strand of her lank hair, and she felt almost equal pity. "Do you want to come around my flat my first weekend off? I should be able to get back to London sometime in September. I could give the Weird Sisters a listen, at last. What do you think?"

Tonks' eyes slowly became focused. A small spark of interest kindled within them. "Yeah, Rose, that'd be brilliant. Sure. I'll bring libations. Just let me know when you've got off." She glanced at her wristwatch, which was fastened to her arm by several strands of black leather. "Train should be in. We'd better get to the station."

The flurry of noise and bustle which met them at Hogsmeade Station made Rose feel strangely dreamlike and distant. On the one hand, the sight of the crowd of students, shouting, laughing, embracing, knocking over one another's owl cages and generally carrying on together did not intimidate her, as it had the previous year. She saw several students whom she knew; Katie Bell raised a hand to her cheerfully where she stood, chatting with a Hufflepuff girl whom Rose did not know. Rose noted Cho Chang walking arm in arm with her friend, Marietta, whose face still bore the scars from Hermione's jinx. But on the other hand, the sights and sounds of the disembarking students no longer excited her. On the contrary, it made her long for the quiet of her office.

Rose and Tonks stood at the end of the platform watching students swarm past. Rose noticed that Tonks looked as tired and as unenthusiastic as she, herself, felt. Then her gaze fell on some familiar faces: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were shepherding first years toward the towering figure of Hagrid. She caught Ron's eye, and he grinned, waved, and nudged Hermione, who also waved. Though Rose could not hear the words which Hermione called over the din, she recognized from the shapes her mouth made the words, "Have you seen Harry?"

Rose shook her head and mouthed back, "No!" Hermione only shrugged, waved again, and continued to direct the first years into Hagrid's care. Rose understood; Harry had probably not been with his two best friends because he was not a prefect. But she turned her eyes toward the back of the crowd, closer to the train, looking for a glimpse of messy hair and spectacles. But she did not see him.

"Let me know if you see Harry, won't you?" Rose asked Tonks, who only nodded vaguely. Rose continued to search the faces in the crowd, now craning her neck to look past clusters of students dragging their trunks onto carriages. Slowly, the crowds thinned; toward the back, Rose spotted Luna Lovegood and Ginny Weasley walking just behind Neville Longbottom. Ginny made a beeline for her.

"Has Harry already been by?" she asked, frowning.

"I haven't seen him, nor had Ron and Hermione. Who was sitting with him on the train?" Rose asked, feeling her heart rate rising. She had a terrible sense of deja vu; the last time that Harry had been missing in a crowd of students, she had found him just seconds away from being murdered by a Death Eater.

Ginny bit her lip."Well, we were with him in Slughorn's compartment, but on the way back he got a weird gleam in his eye and said he'd see us later. I don't know where he's gone, and no one's seen him."

Rose nodded. "Right." She put a hand reassuringly to Ginny's back. "I'll find him. Don't worry."

"Good," Ginny replied, "And when you do, hit him for me, would you?" And with a smile and a roll of her eyes, she hurried off to rejoin Neville.

At first, they merely strode around the platform, looking for a sight of Harry among the students who lingered by the carriages. When they didn't find him, Rose turned to Tonks. "Why not send a Patronus to Dumbledore? If Harry's in the castle, they can tell us right away."

"Good idea." Tonks took three attempts to cast her Patronus, however. After the second unsuccessful attempt, she ran her hands through her dull hair in frustration. "I never used to have this problem," she said, then suddenly laughed, "which I know sounds like a poor excuse from a randy bloke."

"It's quite all right," Rose encouraged. "I can't produce one at all, so I'm hardly in a position to judge."

Tonks screwed up her face, took a deep breath, and exhaled. " _Expecto Patronum_." This time, a silver wolf bounded out of Tonks' wand and stood in front of her expectantly. "Tell Dumbledore Harry Potter is missing and Rose and I are looking for him. Tell him to tell us if he's in the castle." The wolf waited another moment, and then, when no further instructions came, turned and streaked in the direction of the castle.

"Has your Patronus always been a wolf?" Rose was distracted from her anxiety for Harry by curiosity.

Tonks shook her head. "Just the last few months," she muttered. "Anyway, the train's going to leave soon. We'd better have a look on board before it heads back to London."

"Can't we ask the driver to wait?" Rose asked, hurrying toward the ramp alongside Tonks.

"Could," she replied, as they stepped from the platform onto the already vibrating train, "But he's not very persuadable. Let's just hurry; we can always Disapparate. It's a bit tricky from a moving vehicle, but I've done it before."

The two agreed to split up once they were aboard, Tonks searching the compartments toward the engine, Rose, the ones away from the engine. She opened compartment after compartment, calling Harry's name at intervals. After the second compartment, the engine gave a lurch and Rose stumbled, then picked up the pace of her search. On the fifth compartment, which was also apparently empty, the train lurched again and there was a loud thump. Rose found that she was unable to close the compartment door all the way. After trying twice and failing, she narrowed her eyes and prodded at the floor of the compartment with her black boot, which encountered a solid, though invisible, mass.

 _The Cloak_ , Rose realized in a flash, and raised her wand. " _Wingardium Leviosa."_ Harry's Cloak lifted into the air, so that Rose was able to snatch it easily in her hand and see what had been underneath it.

Harry looked a perfect mess. He lay on his side, frozen, facing the underside of the seats. His face was covered in blood and his robes were dirty; his wand rolled uselessly under the opposite set of seats. Over his clearly broken nose, Harry's green eyes darted frantically, trying to see his rescuer. Rose raised her wand.

" _Finite Incantatem,"_ she directed. There was a flash of red light, and Harry was scrambling onto his hands and knees, wiping his bloody face with his hand, and then looking up at her.

"Hi," he croaked.

She smiled ruefully at him. "I'm glad I've found you, Harry! We can chat when we get off the train. Grab your wand; let's get going. Can you walk?"

He could. When they had left the compartment, Rose called, "Tonks! I've got him!"

"Thank Merlin!" came Tonks' voice from the front of the train. "Better jump now or we'll have to apparate. Go!"

"You first," Harry offered, when they had reached the train door.

But Rose shook her head. "No, you don't. I'm not letting you out of my sight. Go!" Harry jumped, staggering a little on the landing. Then he turned and watched as she gripped her robes and jeté-ed onto the platform a few feet away. Tonks was already dusting herself off and walking toward them from the place she had landed. Rose threw her arm around Harry, smiling at Tonks in her relief. "Look at him, Tonks. He's already been to war, and the term hasn't even begun."

"Who did you like this?" Tonks wanted to know.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry returned. "Think by dose is broken," he added. Rose could hear the forced nonchalance in his voice.

Tonks leaned forward, squinted, and nodded. "Looks like it. I can fix it for you if you stand still-?"

"Er. Sure." Harry closed his eyes and froze so completely it almost seemed he had received another body-bind curse.

"Episkey," said Tonks, and then Harry was raising a careful hand to his face to examine his nose.

"You're missing the Start-of-Term Feast," Rose told him. "We'd better get moving. Can you-?" But Tonks was already closing her eyes and lifting her wand. A moment later, her silver wolf shot out.

"Tell Hagrid we've got him," Tonks instructed, and the wolf turned and streaked away. Tonks motioned for Harry and Rose to follow her, then began striding toward the castle at a strenuous pace. Flecks of mud, kicked up by Tonks' spiked Doc Marten boots, landed on Harry and Rose in a spray as they tried and failed to keep pace with her. Impatiently, Rose cleaned herself off with her wand as they walked.

"So what happened?" she asked Harry in a low voice.

He sighed. "It was stupid. I wanted to hear what Malfoy was saying to his mates. He's up to something Rose; you remember how we saw him in Borgin and Burkes?"

"I do; you said you think he might be the youngest ever Death Eater."

"And I still think so," Harry insisted. "So I thought I'd slip into his compartment and have a listen, but he caught me. He waited until everyone'd left and then he immobilized me, stomped on my face, and threw the Cloak over me. I thought I'd be halfway to London by now, so, you know, thanks."

"If I hadn't already noticed you were missing, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny would have made me notice it. They were all worried for you. Ginny asked me to hit you for her, but I think she'll agree Draco Malfoy's already done enough."

As they reached the castle grounds, they caught another fleeting glimpse of Tonks' striding form, between the trees in the moonlight. "Why's Tonks here, anyway?" Harry asked, panting a bit from the pace Tonks had set.

Rose was even more breathless. "Security. Dumbledore's got her stationed here for protection. I was helping her."

"Glad you were," he said fervently. Rose smiled at him, but said nothing more. Conversation took too much breath.

They stopped when they reached the the boar-topped pillars that flanked the gates to Hogwarts. The gates were chained shut. " _Alohomora_ ," Harry attempted, pointed his wand at the padlock, and Rose had to stifle a laugh. _Two trained, adult witches with him, and yet Harry feels it's up to him to open the gates. And with_ Alohomora, _too. Oh, Harry._

"That won't work on these," Tonks explained. "Dumbledore bewitched them himself."

Harry scanned the gates and the surrounding stone walls. "I could climb a wall?"

"You really couldn't, though," said Rose, amused. "There are any number of anti-intruder jinxes on the walls this term."

She watched him throw up his hands in exasperation. "So we're sleeping here, then?" he asked, a touch sarcastically.

Rose looked at him and thought that he must have very little trust in adults to think that it would be up to him to devise a way into the castle. "No, Harry, someone's coming to let us in." And she gestured to the point of light which was bobbing slowly toward them from the castle.

The person holding the lantern, however, proved to be not Hagrid, but Severus Snape. He sneered at them as he opened the gates with a tap of his wand. "Well, well, well," he drawled, "Nice of you to turn up, Potter, although you have evidently decided that the wearing of school robes would detract from your appearance."

Harry looked murderous, but he answered politely enough. "I couldn't change, I didn't have my -"

"There is no need to wait, Nymphadora, Miss Evans, Potter is quite-ah-safe in my hands."

"Why did you come, and not Hagrid?" Rose asked, unable to keep the irritation from her voice. She would not have chosen for Snape to be the one to let them in, Snape, who never missed an opportunity to jeer at Harry, and who loved to speaking cuttingly to Rose of the favoritism he believed she showed Harry. _I won't apologize for it this term, though,_ she promised herself. _Sirius wouldn't let Snape's opinion keep him from looking after Harry, and neither will it._

As they passed into the gate, Snape took a step back. "Hagrid was late for the start-of-term feast, just like Potter here, so I took it instead," he answered cooly. "And incidentally," and here he addressed Tonks, who remained outside of the gates, "I was interested to see your new Patronus." And he shut the gates aggressively in Tonks' scowling face. "I think you were better off with the old one," he added. "The new one looks weak."

"Goodnight, Tonks," Rose said, stopping to thrust a hand through the bars to squeeze Tonks'. "I'll owl you my schedule. And do owl me if I can help back you up some evening."

"G'night, Rose," Tonks answered, her expression changing to a faint smile. "I will." And she turned and began to stroll back towards Hogsmeade, her lit wand making a sort of golden trail behind her.

Rose turned and found that Severus and Harry were now nearing the door to the castle. She hurried to catch up.

"You know," Snape was saying nastily to Harry when she reached them, "I don't believe any House has ever been in negative figures this early in the term-we haven't even started pudding. You might have set a record, Potter. I suppose you wanted to make an entrance, did you?"

Rose clicked her tongue and folded her arms, making Snape look up at her. " _Honestly_ , Severus. Have you missed that he's covered in blood? Do you really think he's late to the Feast because he lost track of time? He was attacked, and by one of your own house. Fifty points from Slytherin, I believe."

"Miss Evans, it is not down to you to punish students in my house." Snape looked cold, but less aggressive than when he'd been gazing at Harry.

"I have not punished him. I have merely taken house points, which I am perfectly within my rights to do, for bullying and assault on school property. I shall leave Mr. Malfoy's punishment to your own judgment, of course." She nodded to him in a show of mildly sarcastic deference, and told hold of Harry's elbow. "Let's go, Harry."

And without a backwards look at the now glowering Snape, Rose propelled Harry toward the Great Hall and a dark corner, where she might offer to help him clean off his face.

* * *

Rose did not go to the Start-of-Term Feast. Dumbledore had told her that she might skip it if she chose.

"I have some idea of what you have endured this summer, Miss Evans," he had told her when she had first returned to the school in August. "And I know that resuming your teaching, while perhaps containing a welcome distraction from what you are enduring, will perhaps require more energy than once it did. If you find that you are in need of some quiet, please feel free to spend the evening in the quiet of your chambers, or on the grounds, or wherever would be most pleasant to you. Neither the staff or myself will remark upon your absence, you have my word."

It was so heartbreakingly kind of him; Rose had welled up yet again, and had momentarily been unable to give him an answer. When she spoke, after Dumbledore's non-blackened hand had patted her reassuringly on the hand (she _must_ remember to find out exactly what Harry knew about this ominous looking injury of Dumbledore's), she only said, "I am very grateful for your consideration, Headmaster. I shall come if I feel I am able." And she had expected then that she would attend. Even until the very afternoon of her tea with Tonks at The Three Broomsticks, she intended to be at the feast.

After finding Harry in a pool of blood on the Hogwarts Express, however, Rose found that both her tolerance for noise and her appetite had decreased dramatically. Instead of following Harry into the Great Hall, therefore, she patted his shoulder and said, "I'm going to eat downstairs. I'll see you later, _cher_." Then, she made the familiar way down to the dungeons to eat from her store of cold meats, fruits, and chocolate biscuits and to meditate in the welcome silence.

Rose had already changed into her night clothes, with her favorite dressing gown firmly tied over all, but her mind would not comply with sleep. Her lessons were planned; there remained nothing to be done before her first class would arrive at 9 o'clock the next day. But though she had not wanted to be at the feast, she was too restless to simply go to sleep.

Her mind gently prodded at a memory of Sirius, lying on his side next to her as he had one evening the previous spring and looking into her eyes. It hurt, but she could bear to think of it. She let the memory roll around in her mind like a marble until she shook her head. No; she did not wish to weep that night, or even to imagine herself back. _I want to do something useful,_ she realized. Looking after Harry today had been exhausting, but it had made her feel her purpose, and with it, a firm connection to the living world. She wanted to do something else that would make her feel this connection.

Rose browsed the deep places of her heart to remind herself of the people she loved who were still on this side of death. Harry. Harry's friends. Tonks. Remus. _Remus_. Her mind went to the image of Remus at the werewolf camp more than two hundred miles to the south, exposed to the weather, underfed, recovering in who knew what discomfort from the full moon which had been just days ago. And as she considered this thought, a germ of an idea rose in her. She got to her feet and made her way down the hall to the Potions Master's office.

But when she knocked at the grim-looking wooden door and it opened, she drew in her breath. Instead of the sallow face and cold expression of Severus Snape, Rose was confronted with a benign-looking, walrus-mustached man who was regarding her with a curious expression.

"Oh, hello," Rose said, trying hard to sound polite and controlled despite her disorientation. "I was looking for Severus Snape. Is he within?"

"I'm afraid not, young lady. You will find him upstairs. As I am teaching Potions, the Headmaster thought it would be most convenient for me to take these chambers which are near to the classroom and the ingredients stores." His eyes twinkled as he took her in. "Has Severus got himself a sweetheart? I don't believe we have met, my dear. My name is Horace Slughorn."

"Oh!" Suddenly, things fell into place in Rose's mind. Harry had told her of Professor Slughorn and of his nighttime visit with Dumbledore that July to convince the man to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts to teach. _But Harry was so sure he was going to teach Defense!_ Rose wondered briefly what else of import she had missed at the Start-of-Term Feast, before saying, "How do you do?" and inclining her head. "My name is Rose Evans; I teach Studies in International Magical Issues. My office is down the hall from you, though my classroom is upstairs."

"Aha! Miss Evans!" Slughorn said jovially, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back slightly. "I know of you, of course, they say you're very talented. Frenchwoman. Used to work at the French Ministry, did you not? Your English is excellent!"

Rose smiled. "Thank you. But I must confess that, in actual fact, I am English. My sister attended Hogwarts some twenty years ago; perhaps you knew her?"

Horace's mouth dropped open. "Oh my. Evans. Oh-" and he gaped comically for a moment, before closing his mouth and pressing his lips together briefly. "Lily. Of course I knew Lily. But I did not know that she had a witch sister. Were you not at Hogwarts, my dear?" Before she could answer, Horace shook his head and blinked. "But where are my manners? Come in, come in, you must sit down with me a moment. Will you take tea?"

Within two minutes, Rose found herself in a very comfortable armchair, sipping tea in a totally transformed office. Whereas Severus Snape's office had been bare to the point of austerity apart from his two shelves of books and neatly stacked papers, Slughorn's office resembled a small hotel lobby. A brass fireplace gleamed, surrounding a merrily blazing fire; the bookshelves held not only handsome leather books but also scores of framed pictures and other memorabilia. The room was filled with plush, overstuffed furniture, and the smell of pipe smoke lingered pleasantly in the air.

"Lily was a favorite, oh my, yes. One of my most capable potioneers, you know. She could give old Severus a run for his money. And she used to do! They were the top two in their year, and it was years again before I saw either of their like. I loved Lily, of course. We all did. What a terrible tragedy." Horace shook his head in such a theatrically hangdog way that Rose was almost amused. Underneath an exaggerated look of sorrow, however, she could perceive genuine feeling. "But now that you introduce yourself I can see the likeness, yes! You have precisely her eyes, you know. Exactly the shape and color, though in other ways you look rather different, of course. But how strange that I have not heard of you! I make it my business to know about every talented young witch or wizard that comes through this school, whether or not I am still teaching."

"But I did not attend Hogwarts, Professor Slughorn. I attended Beauxbatons." Rose took a sip of her tea before continuing. "It was thought at the time to be safer. And, you would not have known of me because I was born ten years after Lily. When she was leaving Hogwarts, my magic was only beginning to be known to our family."

"Ah, I see. And here you are at Hogwarts at last, teaching classes! Do you have young Harry in class, then? He would be your nephew, of course! How splendid!"

"Harry does not take Studies in International Magical Issues, no. But I do see him from time to time. He reminds one very strongly of James, does he not?"

"That he does, that he does," Horace responded, nodding enthusiastically. "Now there was an old family, the Potters! Made their money in hair potions, as I recall, and quite prosperous. But Fleamont and Euphemia only had the one child, more's the pity, and he only time for the one before- well, and young Harry is the last of them. One hopes he will continue the line, for it is always a shame when a Pureblood line dies out." He was sitting back in his chair; he seemed to have lit his pipe without being fully aware of it, and was smiling reminiscently, his eyes crinkling.

 _Not a word about Lily's family line, I notice,_ Rose thought, feeling her eyebrow rise at his words. _I imagine if I should die without issue, it would not seem such a shame to him._ But she was saved from having to formulate a response to this speech when Professor Slughorn himself changed the subject. "So, are you all ready for the first day of classes?"

Rose nodded once. "I am, yes, thank you. Most of my classes are repeats of what I taught last year. I do have one advanced level class this year, and we will be beginning the year with talking about hierarchies and marginalization in international wizarding cultures. I expect a robust discussion will ensue. You see, looking at the prejudices which other wizarding societies have always forces students to examine the prejudices of their own society. This can lead to some discomfort. But, it is my belief that a good education must always cause discomfort along the way, do you not agree, Professor?"

"Of course, of course," Horace agreed, though he was looking at her carefully now. "I, for example, intend to begin tomorrow's NEWT class with a bit of a competition. I always find that element to be a strong motivator in dealing with Slytherins and Gryffindors. Less so with my Hufflepuffs, but you never know. They may surprise me. I am always ready to be surprised," Slughorn said, tilting his head and giving her a significant look as he spoke. "Would you like to step into the classroom to have a whiff at what I have on the warmers, Miss Evans?"

Rose stood up readily. "Certainly, Horace, I have not been in a Potions classroom in years. I should be happy to see whatever you have to show me."

She followed him to the back corner of his office and was mildly astonished to see him tap lightly on a portion of the stone wall and then walk through the door which appeared before their eyes. On the other side, Rose saw the arched, stone ceiling over the dimly lit classroom for the first time. She knew it to be the scene of a great many humiliations, not only for Harry but for Neville and Hermione and many other of Severus Snape's students. But the atmosphere in this room, though the light was dim and the stone walls murky, was cheerful enough. There were several lamps burning brightly throughout the room (Rose suspected them to be Slughorn's own additions) and framed paintings depicting labeled portions lining the walls.

"Here, Miss Evans, are the subjects of tomorrow's study," Slughorn gestured broadly toward three bubbling cauldrons. "Veritaserum," pointing toward a small cauldron filled with a colorless, water-like potion, "Polyjuice," a thick, muddy substance bubbling torpidly in a larger cauldron, "and the _pièce de résistance_ \- there's a little French for you, Miss Evans- Amortentia. Do come and enjoy the smell; I won't make you tell me what you smell!" he promised, wagging his finger, his eyes flashing with good humor.

Rose approached warily. She had smelled Amortentia before, of course; she had taken Potions all the way through her seventh year at Beauxbatons. But she suspected that the smells of lavender, chocolate, and Antoine Paquin's cologne which had met her nostrils at her last exposure to the potion, might not be what she smelled now.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she reached the cauldron behind which Slughorn stood, his eyes twinkling. She inhaled cautiously, and had to bite back a small distressed cry as she was overwhelmed by the vying smells of tobacco, leather, and cigarette smoke emanating from the potion's spiraling steam. She gazed momentarily into the pinkish, shimmering liquid, and fought back tears.

"I shall not ask, nor surmise what it is that you smell, Miss Evans," Slughorn said again, seemingly oblivious to her emotion, "But I must observe that Severus is a lucky man. I would not have thought he had it in him!"

As impudent a statement as this was, Rose was quite glad that he made it, as it was really much more pleasant to return to her room fighting laughter than tears.

* * *

Rose strode down the corridor to her chambers the following evening nearly numb from exhaustion. It had been, she thought, a successful first day, but now she longed to get away from the sound of adolescent chatter and the press of bodies in corridors. As she entered her office, however, she heard a bit of adolescent chatter which made her want to leave her door ajar enough to hear what she could.

"Harry Potter… already got detention with Snape," one boy's voice was saying.

"Tell me something new and different," yawned the girl he was walking with.

"No, but what happened was . . ."

Rose put her head to the door and strained to listen.

"And so Snape says, 'Yes, _sir,'_ and Potter says, 'There's no need to call me sir, Professor!' I mean, it was brilliant, and bold as brass. Good for Potter, really. That old git."

The girl was laughing in delight. "Oh, that is the best thing I've heard all day."

"The highlight of my day, let me tell you. You know, defeating the Dark Lord, saving the Sorcerer's Stone, and winning the Triwizard notwithstanding, I truly believe that remark to be Harry Potter's greatest accomplishment to date."

The voices trailed down the hall. Rose leaned against the door, slowly closing the door with her body. She was shaking with suppressed giggles, which she released upon the closing of the door. Tears streamed down her face, and she resolved to slip Harry a whole packet of biscuits when next she saw him. It was the first time in months that Rose had had cause to laugh this hard.

14


	32. Third Flower Chapter 33

**Chapter 33: Photosynthesis**

 **A.N. Fall, 1996. We begin on September the 5th for Rose's class. Then, Tonks visits on September 20th, and the meeting with Mooney in Hogsmeade is on October 12. If you're keeping track, the Hogsmeade visit for students, in which Katie Bell is cursed, takes place on October 19.**

Rose quickly decided that she did not like teaching afternoon classes. Students were either lethargic from lunch, too wound up in anticipation of the day's end, or on-edge from things that happened in other classes to find it easy to concentrate. Rose very much regretted that her Advanced Level Studies in International Magical Issues met at 3pm, which by her observations was the very center of lethargy for Hogwarts students. Though Lee Jordan was enrolled in the class, he seemed devoid of enthusiasm without his previously constant components, Fred and George. Not that Rose could blame him; she missed the Weasleys too, and was struggling against her own lack of motivation. The school year, without visits with Sirius to give them definition, seemed a featureless wasteland. _Rather like my life_ , she thought during one dismal supper in the Great Hal.

On Thursday morning, however, Rose was feeling energized enough to read through the front page of the Daily Prophet, where she was confronted with a story about a Dementor attack in Norwich. There was apparently no motivation for the attack; the family in question was merely picnicking in Catton Park when Dementors swept down upon them. If the woman picnicking nearby had not been a witch who was able to send a timely corporeal Patronus to their aid, the Muggle family might have been Kissed without ever knowing what was happening to them. Rose had put the newspaper down to consciously slow her breathing, but electricity seemed to flow through her limbs for the first time in weeks.

When her Advanced class arrived, therefore, Rose was ready to talk them out of their apathy. "I hope everyone was able to read the Chapter on Tiered Hierarchies today."

Varying reactions here. Hermione nodded enthusiastically and sat up straight, looking ready for any assessment on the content of the chapter; Padma Patil and Katie Bell merely gave single nods and looked slightly bored, while Kenneth Towler looked away and addressed an itch on his nose. "Well. You all know me, and you know that I'm not going to fault you for being honest. Tell me: what did you think of the chapter?"

Silence. Rose had expected as much. "Well, what did you glean about the nature of these tiered hierarchies? What are they? Let's start there."

Predictably, Hermione's hand was first into the air. "Miss Granger?" Rose smiled at her.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Tiered hierarchies refer to the phenomenon of a culture creating a hierarchy in response to a hierarchy in another culture," she recited.

"That is correct, yes. Can anyone come up with an example of a tiered hierarchy situation?"

Silence again.

"I thought as much. If there is a flaw in this portion of Campbell's book, it is her tendency to offer theoretical information without much in the way of examples to flesh it out. Did you find it to be rather dry, as I did?"

Several people nodded. Padma Patil raised her hand.

"Please, Professor, it seems like one of those terms that people invent for an idea just so they can give it a name, not because it's a very important concept. It's really hard to see its practical application from this chapter of the book."

Rose nodded approvingly. "Well said. I have found the concept of tiered hierarchies to be an important one, actually, but no thanks to textbook chapters such as this. No, I found the concept a useful one during my travels and interactions with other Wizarding cultures, as I struggled to make sense of why they oppressed and marginalized certain groups and not others. Let me provide an example.

"Many Native American societies, as you know, integrate wizards and non-wizards. The wizard, or shaman, in these societies has a special status. But there are many recognized roles in this society, so the status of the witch or wizard is not placed above or below that of non-magical people.

"On the other hand, the European colonists of America brought their European attitudes with them. Wizard-Muggle relations in America are historically even worse than those in Britain. Events such as the Salem Witch Trials exemplify a history of persecution of witches from of a form of Muggle religion which has had little tolerance for magic and folkways. European-derived American Muggles associate witchcraft and magic with cultures which they perceive to be inferior, namely Native American cultures and African cultures. And this is the key point: we see one form of hierarchy, namely, European-derived Muggle society places themselves above witches and wizards _because they place themselves above the Native American societies which esteem them_. One form of hierarchy produces or coincides with another; this is the core of the concept of tiered hierarchies."

Rose looked around to see several of her students nodding. Several more were frowning; some merely looked bored. She tried again. "As there really is nothing like the right example, let's try another. How does British society feel about werewolves?"

Everyone was awake now. Several hands were raised, but Rose called on Kenneth Towler who, while he did not have his hand up, looked interested for the first time that week. "Kenneth, can you tell me how most of British magical society views werewolves?"

Kenneth flushed slightly but answered quickly. "They view them as dangerous, Professor."

"That is correct, and of course, werewolves during the full moon, when not under the influence of wolfsbane potion, are quite dangerous. But how do British wizards tend to regard werewolves when a full moon is not in effect? Lee?"

"They're not really trusted. People don't want them around. Also there are a lot of laws that mean they can't have normal jobs and live near other people and such." Lee scowled then. "But it's all rubbish, isn't it? Werewolves aren't dangerous when it's not a full moon. Professor Lupin was a werewolf, and he was a brilliant teacher."

"Most werewolves are criminals, though," objected Daphne Greengrass.

"That's because they can't get jobs because of the Ministry's policies," Katie Bell shot back. "Anyway, Lee's right, Professor Lupin wasn't dangerous when it wasn't a full moon. But I think it's natural that most people who haven't met a werewolf would want to keep them as far away as possible, transformed or not. It's just human nature, isn't it?"

"It seems that way," Rose agreed. "But sometimes attitudes which seem natural are actually learned. Is anyone here from Ireland?"

As she had hoped it would, Aoife Quirke's hand went up.

"Very good," Rose said, nodding. "And can you tell me, Aoife, about the attitude toward werewolves among traditional, non-Anglicized Irish witches and wizards?"

"As long as they abide by the Comhaontú, they're treated as anyone else," came Aoife's quiet, musical voice.

"Indeed. Such is my understanding as well." Rose affirmed, while many members of the class broke into interested-sounding murmurs.

Hermione's hand darted into the air at the same time that she spoke. "Please Professor, what is the Comhaontú?"

"Aoife, would you like to explain?" Rose asked, but Aoife shook her head. Rose only nodded once. "Very well. I shall tell you what I know."

She cleared her throat before she began; all eyes were upon her. "The Comhaontú, class, is a sort of compact by which all members of the Magical Community in Ireland must abide. It governs many aspects of wizarding life, including the status of werewolves. In traditional, Celtic Irish society, werewolves are regarded as special, as blessed as they are cursed. Their abilities, to smell and sense the emotions of those around them, for example, are greatly prized, and they are allowed a normal level of integration, like non-lycanthropic wizards. Before full moons, the Comhaontú stipulates that all werewolves must travel to specific hunting areas, miles from most villages and farms. Those that do not cooperate with this requirement are shunned, treated as criminal, and usually punished severely by their Irish Wizard Chieftain. But at all other times, Celtic Irish werewolves live normal, integrated lives."

Her students were hanging on her every word, now, and Rose smiled at the sight. _How's this for your Thursday afternoon,_ she thought. "Now, back to tiered hierarchies. How does British society, both muggle and wizarding, regard Irish people?"

There was silence. Aoife's mouth become a straight line, as if she were disgusted by her classmates' cowardice. Finally, Padma raised her hand.

"I've noticed that British society rather looks down on Ireland, Professor."

"Very true. And here we have our second example of a tiered hierarchy. It's hard to know which came first: Britain's contempt for Ireland, or its persecution of the werewolf. It is not necessary for a tiered hierarchy to be a strictly causal relationship, but there must be a demonstrable relationship. Does everyone now think they understand this term better than before?"

Every head nodded, even Kenneth's. "Very good. We'll have a discussion today about status and hierarchy in different Wizarding cultures around the world. But for now, please take note of your homework: I want every one of you to find another example of a tiered hierarchy. It could be a Wizarding or Muggle example; the principle is the same. Use your research, use your other professors, use your friends, and use your own experience. Ask classmates who come from different parts of the world if they can help."

Hermione's hand. "Professor, do each of us need to come up with our own example?"

Rose shook her head. "No, but your example cannot be one that we gave in class. You are to write eight inches of parchment detailing why your example fits the definition of a tiered hierarchy. Is this clear?"

A chorus of "Yes" and "Yes, Professor" sounded, and Rose nodded. "Very good. Now then. What did your reading say about the status of Veela in Eastern versus Western Europe?"

It was the first class in which she had felt truly awake. When the class was dismissed, Lee Jordan said cheerfully to her, "Nice to have you back, Professor." Whether he was referring to her return from the summer holidays, or her return from the stupor of grief, however, Rose did not know.

* * *

After the third week of classes, Rose had her first weekend free of corridor duty. It was with much less of a sense of exhilaration than last year, however, that she had prepared to go back to her flat. All that packing her carpet bag had served to do, this year, was to remind her that she would not be visiting Sirius.

Still, Tonks was waiting for her when she arrived, Rose having given her the address and bidden her to come and go as she pleased. They spent that evening comfortably sprawled on Rose's sofa, by turns listening to WWN, watching music videos on Rose's television (set up, as Sirius had taught her to do, to run on magic rather than electricity), and talking lazily into the night.

Rose found herself more contented than she could have expected. It had been several years since she had had a close girlfriend. Astou wrote only rarely, short, cheerful missives that spoke of her life in Spain with Miguel and, more recently, of the child they were expecting that winter. Rose often found it difficult to respond to these letters, as there was only so much of her doings in the Order of the Phoenix and her former relationship with well-known criminal Sirius Black that she could put into a letter. But Tonks knew all, and Rose found herself warming to her earthy, honest way of talking.

"This flat suits you," Tonks declared, minutes after she and Rose had settled on the sofa with their wine. "It's elegant. Simple, and all clean. Mine's as littered as a Niffler's lair, though with far less valuable stuff inside." She tossed some of the popcorn she'd brought into her mouth and continued with her mouth partially full. "Now your nephew's room, that was a proper mess. Food wrappers, owl feathers, dirty pants everywhere. Man after my own heart, Harry." She grinned

"When I visited him last, almost the first thing I did was to clean his room," Rose said, laughing.

While they watched music videos, Tonks kept up a running commentary that made Rose laugh until she cried. "Oh look, she's driving an auto. Oh look, now she's driving an auto in a different outfit. And, oh my god.. . . ." She continued to drawl in a bored voice, "It's a different outfit. Same car. What a wild hippogriff ride this video is. Whatever will she do next? . . Oh, she's run out of petrol. Actually it's incredible she made it that far without refilling. Why don't all Muggles drive . . . whatever that car is . . . Oh shut it, will you, you whiner. OH!" Tonks sat up straight as Alanis Morrisette faded away in favor of a Gothic, black and white video with an eerie-voiced singer. "Look, it's that Björk now. Now she's the real thing. Hard core and won't apologize for it. I do fancy her."

"I hope they play Jewel again," Rose put in. "I would never have owned as much to Sirius, but I quite like her."

"You would," Tonks scoffed, and grinned good naturedly as Rose hit her with a pillow.

All in all, Rose did not have nearly as melancholy a weekend as she'd expected she would. Tonks stayed late into the next morning, and Rose visited her flat the following afternoon. It was just as chaotic a space as Tonks had described, but Rose, sensing that Tonks would not welcome it, did not clean a single thing.

Rose returned to Hogwarts rather refreshed. In the week that followed, she found that, while she still felt fatigued after a day of teaching, and still went to bed earlier than usual, she was finding it somewhat easier to sleep.

* * *

It was the middle of the sixth week of classes before Rose received a response to the letter she'd written some four weeks before. Lis had returned to her within days of her sending the letter, without bringing a response. Rose had rather expected this, but she had hoped one would come sooner than the second week of October. She therefore took the tattered, rolled parchment eagerly from the rather feral-looking owl who brought it and read.

 _Dear Rose,_

 _Thank you for your letters. It is good to hear from a friend in this place. I am well enough. We are living rough in the camp, so I will not say that I am sometimes not cold or hungry, but I have not been ill and I eat enough to keep me on my feet._

 _I hope very much that you are well and that you are taking good care of yourself. Remember, even if you don't want to eat or sleep, your body needs you to do it to heal. Do not be afraid to grieve. To cry is only to fall to the floor. The floor will be solid under your feet, even if you temporarily cannot rise from it. You will not fall further than the floor, and in time, you_ will _rise. I promise._

 _You asked if we might meet in Hogsmeade. I needed a bit of time to see if that might be possible, but I think now that I may. Let us attempt to meet on the outskirts of town, near the sheep-gate on the south side of the village. I can meet you there at noon on Saturday, the 12th of October. It will be a new moon._

 _Give my love to Harry. Take care._

 _Mooney_

Rose left for Hogsmeade just after ten o'clock on Saturday the twelfth. The walk to the village was quite pleasant, for the autumn leaves presented a lovely tapestry of color against the overcast sky. Also, being that it was not a Hogsmeade weekend for the students, the town was quieter than usual. After a stop at the Three Broomsticks, where she purchased enough food to fill the hamper she'd brought, Rose made her way to the south end of town. When she saw how early she had arrived, she conjured a chair for herself and began to read.

Rose was deeply engrossed in _Extremist Movements of Wizarding Europe,_ and was delightedly earmarking several pages which she intended to use in her advanced class, when the sound of a voice behind her caused her to jump and nearly drop the book.

"You shouldn't fold the pages like that," the voice said sorrowfully. "You'll never get the creases out."

"Mooney!" Rose jumped up and he stepped back so as not to be collided with as she scrambled up from the bench. Leaving her parcels, she sidestepped around the bench and threw her arms around Remus, without giving him the chance to take his hands from his pockets.

"I should warn you," he cautioned, stepping back and only succeeding in dragging her along with him, "I haven't bathed in some time. I have fleas, and I'm sure you can smell-"

"Oh, you say all that as if I'm going to care," Rose said in a muffled voice against his shoulder. She shifted her arms to his neck. He exhaled, then embraced her back fervently. As a matter of fact, he did smell dreadful; unwashed, smoky, and with a vaguely animal smell of old blood. But Rose gave no sign of disgust and only released him when he began to cough into the crook of his arm.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," he said between hacking coughs that racked his whole upper body. "I seem to have caught a cold. Another reason you should probably not get too close."

Rose made a dismissive noise, rummaging around in her hamper until she found the cup she sought. He filled it with water from his wand and drank gratefully. "Thank you," he said, when the fit had passed. "Shall we walk? I do not think we would do well to be seen in company."

They strolled past the sheep-gate and over the hill, out of sight of the town. The hill gave an excellent prospect; all around them were mountains, woods, and pasture. The only living things visible were about a dozen sheep who dotted the far side of the hill. Remus carried the hamper, and Rose, the carpet-bag, until they reached the bottom of the hill and a warm, dry spot on the grass.

"Let me show you what I've brought!" Rose dug into her carpet-bag and produced the heavy plaid blanket she had brought with her. She opened the hamper once they were settled on the blanket and extracted the wrapped packets, the thermos of tea, and the metal cups. "Fish and chips, from The Three Broomsticks, and Earl Grey. I'm sorry I haven't got any cream," she added, "I know you like it in your tea."

But Remus was shaking his head vigorously. "Rose, this is marvelous. I haven't eaten a proper meal in- thank you. You really needn't have done it."

Rose rolled her eyes as she opened the packets, the delectable smell of fried haddock and chips now wafting through the chilly air. "There'll be no more of that, if you please, Remus. You came to visit me when I asked. I'm going to feed you, even if it is on a grassy knoll." While they ate, Rose prodded at him to describe what he'd been doing all these months.

"It's delicate work, and tedious, but very important," he told her between vinegary mouthfuls. "We're spreading the word that not all wizards hate werewolves. Some wizards aren't prejudiced, and some werewolves have been successfully integrated into Wizarding society. Finding someone who's willing to flout the law to hire a werewolf is tricky, but such employers exist. Florian Fortesque is one. The Wizarding Bookstore Inkspots is another. Also," he added, taking the napkin Rose was handing him and using it to wipe his greasy fingers, "Greyback is spreading the lie that Voldemort is going to hold werewolves in high esteem. We counter by pointing out the way Voldemort's used other magical creatures, like giants, always discarding them when they are no longer of use. The Death Eaters are an extraordinarily bigoted lot, and that applies to werewolves too. I've got a few werewolves willing to admit Greyback is probably lying to them. They know how much he profits from his connection to the Death Eaters, and I hope it's only a matter of time before they turn on him."

He took a moment after this speech to breathe and fight off another coughing fit with a few gulps of tea. Then he sighed. "Still. They haven't turned on him yet."

"If anyone could convince them, it's you," Rose said seriously.

"I hope so," was all he said. He seemed tired after eating the heavy pub food.

Rose stretched back on the blanket to look at the clouds and give Remus a chance to rest. It was a shame, she thought, that Tonks couldn't be here, eating with him, listening to him, making him laugh as she, Rose, had never been able to do. Rose loved Remus, and was very pleased to be sitting with him on that windy hillside. But she knew that Tonks, being properly in love with him, would be made far happier by this visit. _But he wouldn't have come to see her_ , she reminded herself as she glanced at his abstracted expression.

Rose had written Remus before her September request that he meet her at Hogsmeade, but the substance of her letters had usually been an extended argument for him to return Tonks' love. Her September letter, however, had mentioned nothing of Tonks, and Rose had even closed with a postscript: _Please arrange to meet me if you can,_ she had written, _I promise not to bring up that certain subject to which my last letter alluded._ And that, apparently, had been all it took to gain not only a letter from Remus, but a visit as well.

"What was it you wanted to ask me about?" Remus asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"I wanted to ask about your transformations," she answered, sitting up and looking frankly into his face. "I wanted to know if you're safe, first of all, and if you have the help you need to recover. But also, I wanted to know," taking a breath, "I wanted to know whether it would compromise your mission to benefit from Wolfsbane while you are at the camp."

Remus' eyebrows shot up, and he began to shake his head vigorously. "Rosey, I can't let you- Wolfsbane is unbelievably expensive. It'd cost everything you make at Hogwarts."

"I am not thinking about buying it," she said, holding up her hand to quell his agitation. "I am thinking about making it."

"Rose," he seemed at a loss as to how to say what was in his mind to say. "Rose, it's devilishly tricky to make. Many potions masters find it challenging, and I wasn't aware that potions was really your-"

"Oh, I won't do it alone," she assured him. "I'll have help."

"Severus." It was a statement.

"Yes."

Remus contemplated this for a moment. "He has agreed to this?"

"Not yet. But I am confident I can make him agree to it."

Rose was telling the truth. The more she had thought about it, the more Rose had realized that Severus, as disagreeable as he could be, was never at his most ill-natured with her. To the contrary, he was often surprisingly helpful. She did not know why; though his phlegmatic aloofness had intrigued her at first, she had long thought him exasperating, unpleasant, and unforgivably cruel to those that she loved most, and she'd treated him accordingly. But Snape never quite returned her ire, much as she provoked him. And at the core of it, Rose suspected, was Lily, and their long-ago ruined friendship. _He had a soft spot for Lily_ , she realized the last time she had brought her sister up, _and because of that, he has a soft spot for me._

She cleared her throat and returned to the present. "And anyway, there's also Horace Slughorn. He seems to like me, and I expect I can find a way to persuade him if I need to. He is teaching Potions this year, if you didn't know."

"I did not know that, know," Remus said, sounding surprised and momentarily distracted from his discomfort. "He taught me, though I was never an exemplary Potions student. But-" and he resumed shaking his head, "even if you could brew Wolfsbane, Rose, I don't need it. We transform so far away from people, we really only hunt deer, rabbits, and the occasional sheep." He motioned to the nearby grazing animals, looking momentarily nauseated. "I feel safe enough, and we all tend to each other's wounds after a transformation. And actually," he gave a strained smile, "I sustain fewer injuries than I used to do in the Shrieking Shack, or at Grimmauld, even. Wolves are pack animals, and when they can run freely with their packs-"

"But you still have pain," Rose returned quietly. He was silent. "And you still lose yourself when you transform. And you hate it." He did not argue, but sighed and looked down. She took it as confirmation and continued. "What I want to know is not whether you think you deserve Wolfsbane, or whether you want me to make it for you. I want to know if taking it would be logistically possible. I know you have to take it once a day, weekly, and it must be hot. Can you even get away long enough to take it, in the week before the moon? _Can you?_ " she pressed when he seemed inclined to argue on a different point.

Another sigh. "I could," he admitted. "I tend to keep to myself in the days before the moon, and I am one of those who prefers to transform alone."

"And would the others notice? If you were . . . not as they are, during the moon? Or could you keep them from suspicion?"

"I could probably keep them from knowing I have taken it, yes," he said, after a moment's hesitation.

"Well then," Rose said, in a satisfied voice, "I shall get to work. I will owl you to let you know of my success."

"Rosey, you really shouldn't do this," he protested again, though more weakly. "You have enough to be dealing with. You don't need to commit to another burden."

"You don't understand," she replied, her voice growing fretful. "I need something to do, Remus. I am keeping an eye on Harry, as I promised I would. But Dumbledore is much more engaged with him now, and really, he prefers the company of his friends. As is natural. But I need something to do, to keep me from drifting away. Harry is living under the weight of the prophecy, and the war grows worse every day, Dementors are stalking Britain and I cannot produce a Patronus to save my life. I need to do something to be of use, Remus. Can you understand that?"

"I can," he replied, placing a hand on hers. "And if it means that to you, then I will accept this from you. And know that even if you do not succeed, your offer, and your friendship, it means a great deal."

She squeezed his hand, then released it.

"I will need to leave you soon," Remus warned. "It doesn't do to disappear for too many long hours." Rose nodded. "How are you holding up?" he asked her.

She swallowed. "I… I am eating. And sleeping, most of the time. And I am keeping up with my classes. I am getting on well enough."

He nodded slowly. Then he asked, with a more guarded expression, "Are you seeing Tonks?"

"I am, yes. We are in touch. She came round to my flat two weeks back and we talked."

"And," Remus looked down, using the flats of his hands to smooth out the wrinkles in his tattered robes, "Is she well?"

"She is holding up relatively well, considering that she is brokenhearted," Rose responded gently.

He nodded and looked wretched.

"I know she would want to be here, but I had a feeling you wouldn't see her."

"I don't think it will do anything but make it all worse," he answered, shaking his head.

"But this reminds me," Rose said, suddenly stooping to open her carpet bag. "She wanted me to give you this." She withdrew a worn looking leather bound book from the bag and held it out to him. The cover read, _The Metamorphoses of Ovid_.

"Ah," he exclaimed, his eyes brightening even as a flash of pain crossed his face, "She thought of Ovid. It always does cheer me to read these old stories; she knows it." He took the book from her and hugged it to his chest.

"And I want you to have these." From the bottom of the bag, Rose removed a pair of folded wizard's robes and handed them to him. "We're sitting on the other thing that's for you. I… I bought the robes and the blanket for Sirius, when he was living in the cave outside Hogsmeade. I'm having a bit of déjà vu at the moment, actually," she said, chuckling slightly. "I asked Tonks to get them for me the last time she was at Grimmauld. I couldn't bear to- well, she helped me, we both wanted you to have warm robes and warm blankets. And I know Sirius would, too."

"Everyone will think me too fine," Remus said, smiling as he held up the too-long robes to his thin frame. "But they will be warm. And, I can wear them under these robes and they will not attract too much attention. Thank you, Rose. You've helped me more than I can say."

"Tonks fetched them for you," Rose protested. "She asked me if I should ever see you would I please make sure to get you a hot meal. You carry her love with you, too."

Remus blinked rather rapidly but then returned his face to a rather pained smile. "Thank you," he said again, simply, and she embraced him. Perhaps it was the emotion, or the gust of cold wind, but he was soon pulling away again to cough into his faded sleeve.

"My next letter will contain Pepper-up Potion!" Rose promised. He helped her to gather up the remains of their picnic, and the two of them strolled back over the hill to the sheep-gate.

"I leave you here, Rose," said Remus. "Thank you again. And, give my- my thanks to Tonks, as well," he added.

"I surely will, Remy."

With a tired but genuine smile, clutching the bundle of his robes, blanket, and book, Remus turned on the spot and Disapparated with a CRACK. Rose, however, lingered for another hour at the sheep-gate. "I'm trying to look after him for you too, Paddy," she whispered before she eventually turned to go. Another sudden gust of wind was her only answer. But, for the moment, it was enough.

13


	33. Third Flower Chapter 34

Chapter 34: Virtue

 **A.N. The beginning of this chapter takes place during the week of October 15-18, 1996. The second part takes place on October 19, a Saturday.**

The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office was located off the second floor corridor. It was this room to which, Rose discovered, Snape had been relegated for this year. Rose imagined that the room must be rather bare, as no teacher of Defense had lasted more than a year in a generation. So, in advance of her first attempt to win Snape's help in her Wolfsbane project, Rose paid a visit to a tourist shop in Cokeworth where she purchased a gift. In her mind, she called it a "peace offering," though she wondered if he would not see it as a bribe. Still, she thought it was probably better than coming empty handed.

It was just days after her meeting with Remus when, after she had returned from dinner, Rose gathered up her purchases, neat and smooth in their frames, and made her way up from the Dungeons to the second floor. Many professors kept office hours in the evenings with doors open, but Severus' door was shut. Rose was neither surprised nor deterred. She knocked, and upon hearing a faint, bored sounding "Enter," she opened the door.

As she had expected, Severus was sitting in an almost completely bare office. There were several glass jars lining the walls filled with faintly glowing liquid, one small tank in the corner which housed something that was moving in dark water, and a large bookcase containing books of varying sorts. She did not take the time to peruse them, however, as Snape was looking at her with an expression of mild surprise on his normally expressionless face.

"Good evening, Severus," Rose greeted him, trying to make her voice pleasant. "Are you at leisure to talk with me for a few minutes?"

"Miss Evans," he nodded, reverting to his accustomed formality perhaps in imitation of her own tone. "I can spare a few minutes, yes." He pushed aside the stack of student essays he had been marking and turned to face her. His face had lost its cast of surprise and was now its usual cold mask.

"I have a gift for you," Rose said, elevating the two parcels by a few inches. "I see you have been moved to a new office, and I thought it might be rather bare. I had occasion to go back to Cokeworth this past summer-" (this was untrue; she had gone to Cokeworth only that Sunday past, and with this errand in mind), "and while there, I purchased a few pictures. I thought you might like some of them."

While she spoke, Rose removed the paper from the two frames she had brought. They were two charcoal drawings of well-known buildings in the Cokeworth vicinity. There was one of the old parish church, and another drawing of a nearby castle. They were not labeled; Rose had thought that perhaps Severus would not wish to advertise his connection to the town of his birth. But to anyone who had spent very much time in Cokeworth, the two buildings were immediately recognizable. In the black and white drawings, the two landmarks looked far more idyllic and lovely than they had ever looked to Rose in real life.

Snape looked at them for a moment without saying anything. "You see, it is St. George's Church," Rose prompted, pointing. "And the castle. You recognize them, do you not?"

"I do." He said shortly. "I thank you." He merely looked at her then, without making a move to take the two frames. Rose cleared her throat, then placed the two pictures carefully on the table across from his desk. He did not invite her to sit down, but she pulled out the small, severe looking chair that was meant for students and sat in it anyway.

"What is it that you want, Miss Evans?" Snape asked quietly, after a moment.

She gave a small nervous chuckle. "Why do you assume I must want something from you? I thought you might enjoy the pictures."

His eyes bored into her and her discomfort increased. "And yet, you do want something from me. Please do not deny it any longer. I have essays to mark."

She sighed. This was not going as she had hoped. But she decided to match his directness, and so sat up straighter and said, "I want you to help me brew Wolfsbane Potion."

His eyebrows rose, then his eyes narrowed. "I take it you wish to do this for the sake of the werewolf Remus Lupin?"

"Yes. He is on a mission for the order, in the werewolf camp, and-"

"I am aware of his doings," Severus interrupted. "But I am not aware that taking Wolfsbane Potion would be of any use to the nature of his mission. Neither he nor those he is among-" Severus said this phrase with a touch of venom, "are in any danger from his transformations. The potion should not be needed."

"He is not in danger," Rose admitted. "But I believe it would make him more effective at his mission. He would be able to help keep the others from getting too close to Muggle towns. He would be able to get a look at the dynamics of the pack during the transformation, and know who is really loyal to Greyback. But more importantly, it would ease his suffering. He undergoes this grueling mission for the sake of the Order. I think the Order should support him in any way we can."

As she'd expected, Snape looked unimpressed by these arguments. "Wolfsbane is an extremely expensive and time intensive potion to brew. And I wasn't aware that you had expertise in Potions, Miss Evans."

"I received the equivalent of an Exceeds Expectations on my AIGLE examinations, our 7th year exams," Rose said, primly.

He snorted. "Miss Evans, the Wolfsbane Potion is one that the most skilled potioneers are reluctant to attempt. One mistake and the subject is poisoned. Is it worth it, risking poisoning Lupin? Not that most would deem it a great loss. But I hope you have not promised it to him. I fear that would be a promise that you will be unable to keep."

"Would it not be a welcome challenge for you then, to teach Potions again?" Rose said, trying a different tact. "Lily always said she missed brewing when school let out and she didn't have class anymore. You have been teaching Potions all these years, and I understood that you loved it as she did. Now that you have moved on, would it not be a welcome diversion to teach a willing student a challenging recipe?"

His black gaze was unfathomable. "I assure you, I am not in possession of a great deal of disposable time-"

"You no longer have to teach Harry Occlumency," Rose returned, interrupting. "I know that you have- other business than just teaching Defense."

"One could say that," he said, in a low voice.

"And I know that you are busy. And that it is a great favor to ask. But this is something I want to be able to do, to help someone, with something. Dumbledore seems to have taken Harry off both of our hands this year, and I will not sulk in my office this year, I will not just wring my hands over the accursed _Prophet_. I will _do_ something, I tell you!" She had lifted her chin as she said this, and when she returned her eyes to his, she saw he was watching her dispassionately.

"Miss Evans," he responded, "If you are finding yourself underused, I am sure other tasks may be found for you which can benefit the Order. You have only to mention your dissatisfaction to the Headmaster."

"I have my heart set on this project, Severus," Rose replied in an even voice. "If you will not help me, I shall approach Horace Slughorn. I shall tell him that I wish to learn to brew Wolfsbane Potion for my own edification, or because Potions was my favorite class, or because it reminds me of Lily to be brewing, or any other half truth which will convince him without giving away my real purpose. I have no doubt that he will help me."

"Slughorn is a conventional Potioneer," Snape said, rather dismissively. "Adequate, though thoroughly conventional. Given enough crystallized pineapple, he will probably agree to help teach you. But I would not count on a completed potion before Christmas; the man is methodical to an absurd degree in his brewing. And he prefers to spend his evenings in the company of the students he deems most . . . deserving." Something about the way Snape said this made Rose think that he, Snape, had probably not been a member of the vaunted Slug Club when he was in school.

"Nonetheless, I will ask him if I must." Rose reiterated, keeping her eyes on Snape's impassive face.

He said nothing for several long seconds. Then he spoke,slowly. "Tomorrow evening. Eight o'clock. We will need to begin tomorrow to have the first dose ready on time. As it is, it will be close; he will need to begin taking it on Saturday. Your first batch," he continued, raising his eyebrow coldly, "will be unusable."

She must have looked inclined to argue, for he raised one hand and persisted, "It will be unusable. All first attempts at Wolfsbane are unusable. Unless you wish to poison Mr. Lupin, you will use the contents of my cauldron. But you will brew your own batch, and you will brew another next month. And again, until you have mastered the potion. I shall not at any time brew this potion for you; you will be learning to brew it yourself. You say that you want to learn it; learn it you shall."

Rose wasn't sure how he managed to give her exactly what she'd wanted while still making her distinctly threatened. He was gazing at her in a way that gave Rose an ominous chill. She rallied quickly from her unease, however.

"As you say, I shall learn it. Thank you, Severus. I will be here at eight." With an effort, she smiled into his mask-like face, and was rewarded only by the smallest flicker in one of his eyes. He inclined his head toward her, and she felt herself dismissed. It was strange, however; as much antipathy as Snape had shown during their conversation, on her way back to her chambers Rose felt closer to cheerfulness than she had since the term had resumed.

Rose's first batch of Wolfsbane was, as Snape had predicted, an unmitigated disaster. At the end of the first evening, Rose was sweating, frizzy-haired, and had muttered several favorite French curses into her cauldron as she surveyed her progress. It was, she thought, not really a fair test of her potions-making ability. She had not been allowed to proceed in her usual methodical way. Though they both looked on at the same purloined copy of the Ministry-Approved instructions, Snape would here and there deviate from the instructions on the parchment and advised Rose to do the same.

"You would do better to use a mortar and pestle on the quicksilver," he said as they both prepared their black quicksilver for pulverizing. "The knife will not produce the ideal texture for the substance, despite what Belby instructs."

She did not challenge him, and did her best to follow his instructions. But it was distracting. Every time she formed an idea of the next steps in her mind, she would look over and find him performing the task differently. Or he would interrupt her consideration of the instructions to interject, "The aconite should not be added so soon. Really, Belby ought to know that it will keep the mixture from boiling until it is almost solid," or something of that sort.

Once, Rose asked him, "What would be the result of following the instructions as written? Would the potion not be effective?"

"It is effective when made as directed," he replied, slicing his giant moonwort into then, consistent ribbons which Rose strove to imitate. "But these instructions create countless opportunities for mishaps and disasters. Few potions contain black quicksilver, and no other potions of which I am aware use monkshood. The properties of these substances are not widely understood. These are the official Ministry-approved instructions, as Belby himself published them, and yet they were created using trial and error. Many botched potions, and many dead werewolves, in truth, could have been prevented if Belby himself had had more theoretical knowledge of these ingredients."

"How do you know so much about them, then?" Rose wondered, folding her giant moonwart leaf to give herself a crease along which to cut.

"They interest me," was all he would say. And they passed the majority of the rest of the first night in silence, except for his occasional corrections to the instructions.

By the end of the second night, the difference between their potions was stark. While Snape's potion worked at a fine boil like a pony at a canter, Rose's cauldron contained a sickly, irregular mixture of watery potion and heavy clumps. She had to stir constantly to keep the clumps from sticking to the bottom of the cauldron and burning. Snape said very little as they brewed that night, but at ten o'clock he appeared satisfied with the consistency of his own potion and looked into her cauldron. He studied the gloppy mixture with a resigned expression on his sharp-featured face.

Rose, who had heard plenty of anecdotes about Snape's behavior in class, braced herself for some cutting, cold remarks, but none came. He nodded once, then merely said, "I told you the powdered silver must be added in small increments, while stirring counterclockwise."

"I thought I was doing just that," Rose said, though not defensively. His tone was far milder than she'd been expecting.

"You were adding inconsistent amounts. A pinch here, a teaspoon here. Wolfsbane Potion requires precise measurements, at precise intervals. You stopped stirring to keep the silver from smoking while you pinched it, did you not?"

"I did," she admitted. "But I saw that the potion was still turning, so I thought I could afford a second or two."

"The potion must turn at the same speed throughout the addition of the silver," he explained. He gave her cauldron's contents another stir. "The silver has not completely congealed," he observed. It was not praise. But it was so far from the derision she was expecting that Rose chose to feel heartened. Still, by Friday, the third night's end, she was aware that all she had accomplished over the course of the three nights was to waste ingredients very slowly. When they added the aconite, the potion was to give off a puff of pale purple smoke, which Severus' potion accordingly did. Rose's potion, however, merely fizzed for a moment, and then returned to the near-solid sludge it had become overnight.

Severus nodded at his own potion, and then went to his small cabinet and withdraw a small bottle. He withdrew a dried leaf from this bottle and held it before Rose. "The potency of a batch of Wolfsbane can be inferred from its appearance. But this skullcap leaf can be used to check for toxicity. Observe." He dropped the leaf onto his own cauldron's contents. It floated serenely atop the gently boiling mixture, its edges not so much as curling away from the liquid.

"Now," and here Snape dropped a second leaf into Rose's gelatinous potion. Immediately, the leaf withered, then evaporated into a small column of black smoke. Rose exhaled. She had known that her potion could not be considered a success, but to be confronted with visible evidence that it would indeed poison the drinker was chilling.

"I will replace the ingredients," she promised, trying to conceal her dismay. "I will pay for more."

"There is no need," Severus answered, replacing the lid to the skullcap leaf jar. "The school provides all that I require."

"But this is extracurricular. And the ingredients are so expensive, Remus told me it would cost a large portion of my salary to buy the potion-"

"The school can afford it. Dumbledore will not object." He had begun to replace the remaining ingredients into his cupboard now. He cleared his throat when she did not move and, perhaps seeing that she still looked uneasy, said, "The ingredients are rare, and thus, more expensive than most substances. But the price of Wolfsbane Potion is not, and has never been, in proportion to the value of its ingredients. For example, the ingredients in one month's supply of Wolfsbane Potion would cost around thirty-five galleons. But the cost of one month of Wolfsbane Potion, purchased through Ministry-approved channels by an individual? Around two hundred and eighty gallons."

Rose's jaw dropped. She closed her mouth quickly, though, and asked, "Then, is one paying for the price of the skilled labor? For the difficulty in brewing the potion? Is that why the price of the potion is so high?"

"That is a part of it," Snape replied, resuming his tidying up. "Few can brew it satisfactorily, and even fewer can brew it such that it will not harm the drinker. But the Ministry sets the price of Wolfsbane potion. They tax it, and they control its production and distribution. The few desperate lycanthropes who are able to buy the potion generate them an immense profit, which, they will say, they put to good use. We have just broken the law," he added in an indifferent, rather bored tone.

"If we have cheated the Ministry of an opportunity to cheat," Rose replied, after digesting this, "then I object not at all."

* * *

The pleasant weather of the weekend before had departed that Saturday. When Rose set off for Hogsmeade Village after breakfast, Remus' reply to her letter tucked into her pocket and a thermos full of Wolfsbane Potion safe in her carpet bag, she screwed up her face against a frigid wind. There were students all around her, all in their own states of struggle with the cold and the wind, but Rose nevertheless muttered French curses all the way to the village. Never since she had arrived two years ago had Scotland seemed so inclement and unwelcoming.

Her walk seemed to take twice its normal duration, though it was hard to tell how much of that impression came from the miserable weather. Upon arriving in the village, she checked her wristwatch. Nine-fifteen. She wished with all her might that there was time to stop in any of the Hogsmeade shops or cafes, but Remus had said nine-thirty. Any delay and she risked being late. So, sighing, holding her bag tightly against her, Rose trudged to the sheep-gate to find Remus.

He did not keep her waiting. Just after nine-thirty, a crack sounded behind her and Remus was there, ragged and worn as before but looking healthier. She could see the collar of the plaid robes that used to belong to Sirius peeking from beneath his usual ragged overcoat. Despite her discomfort, Rose smiled broadly at him.

"So you got the Pepper-Up?" she asked him. She almost had to shout to be heard over the wind.

"I did," he replied. "Thank you! I'm feeling worlds better."

"Good!" She fumbled in her bag. "I have another potion for you."

"Did Severus help you, then?" He wanted to know.

Rose strongly suspected that he would only trust the potion if Severus had been involved, and smiled reassuringly. "He made it. Mine was . . . not usable."

Remus laughed ruefully. Rose noted how much better and more cheerful he seemed than last week. "He must like you very much," he offered. "He would not do a thing like this for my sake alone."

"I rather think he just didn't want me to go to Slughorn," Rose replied. "But he was very kind, when it came down to it. You know, for him."

"I do know," he replied. His eyes were twinkling.

"I think I did better on my first attempt than he thought I'd do. But it's hard to tell. We'll do it again next month. And he made more than enough potion for this month." She handed over the thermos and watched sympathetically as Remus' face screwed up in distaste. Still, he drank it quickly and without hesitation.

"I don't have much time," he told her when he'd finished the last of it. "Are you well? How is Harry?"

"I am well," she answered him, lifting her voice against the wind, once again. "I saw Harry at breakfast. He was talking with Ron and Hermione. It seemed an intense conversation. He said he'd come to visit this evening, so I can ask him what it was about. I may see him in the village today."

"Good, good." Remus handed the thermos back to her. "I must go. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Of course. What time will be best?" Suddenly she inhaled with a realization. "Does it need to be taken at the precise same time each day?" If so, she would have a time covering up her absence from the same class every day next week.

"No," he answered, and she exhaled. "As long as it is taken daily. I can see you tomorrow afternoon if that is better? Around two, so that you'll be finished with lunch?"

"Two. Very good. And, can I meet you just before dinner on weekdays? It would be better if I did not have to miss class."

"I can do that, yes." He gave her a swift hug. "Thank you for your hard work. I am lucky to have such a friend."

" _Foutaise_ , Remus, it is a great satisfaction to me." She smiled again into his kind face, and he stepped away as if to Disapparate.

"Won't you drop a line to Tonks?" Rose called out. She had not meant to confront him with this, but the memory of Tonks' face when they had talked over the Wolfsbane plan in Rose's fire was suddenly before her. "It can't hurt, you know. Just to let her know how you are. To greet her."

Remus considered this, then nodded. "I suppose I could do that. You're right. I will do that." He smiled at her and Rose lifted her hand in farewell before he Disapparated in a whirl of tattered cloaks, a hint of the red plaid visible in the blur.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, as Rose had expected it would be. But Rose found that she didn't mind the press of students around her as she entered. The crowd added to the warmth generated by the pub's roaring fire, and the genial greetings from several students warmed Rose as well. She realized as she positioned herself in the queue for drinks that she had been lonely lately.

"Come sit with us, Professor!" Lee Jordan called as Rose turned away from Madam Rosmerta, carefully balancing her mulled cider. And Rose did, and she sipped her cider and enjoyed sitting on the edge of the table of sixth and seventh years while they talked animatedly about all the things students talk about when they get away from school. Several times, Rose knew, they were censoring themselves as they spoke, giving each other meaningful looks and laughing excessively when they refrained from saying something they imagined Rose might disapprove. But she merely laughed too and said little. It was enough to be in friendly company, in a place she felt she belonged.

A gust of cold air caused her to look up. Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the pub, Harry looking slightly disheveled and furious about something. "He was nicking Sirius' stuff!" he said loudly as three three trooped to the bar. He was, apparently, oblivious to the attention his entrance had generated.

Hermione whispered something placating to him, and he and Ron got a table. Rose considered joining them, but decided to make use of the pub's bathroom before she did.

Katie had gone several minutes before. She was washing her hands as Rose entered the ladies' room. It was a dim bathroom; one flickering light was feebly shining over the sink. "Hello, Professor," Katie said cheerfully as she dried her hands on jumper.

"Hello, dear," Rose replied, smiling at Katie as the seventh-year girl exited the bathroom and went into the hallway. A few minutes later, when Rose, too, left the bathroom, she exited into the narrow, dim hall behind the main dining area and nearly walked right into Rosmerta.

"Oh, dear me! Excuse me, Madam Rosmerta," she said, politely.

Rosmerta did not respond. She stepped backward, away from Rose, allowing her to pass. But she had no response to Rose's apology, and Rose looked at her closely. "Rosmerta?"

The woman's dark eyes, usually lively, were blank. She simply stood and stared straight ahead, her expression utterly neutral.

"Are you quite all right, Rosmerta?" Rose asked again, more gently.

Suddenly, the woman shook her head. When she looked at Rose again, her eyes had lost their glassines. "Oh," was all she said at first, then her face dimpled. "Oh, hullo Professor Evans! How is that wee nephew of yours? Is he in town today?"

"He is," Rose said. She smiled, but her eyes watched Rosmerta carefully. "I believe he's in the pub now."

"Ah, good, good," she said, turning and beginning to walk back toward the bar. Rose followed her, still wary. She continued, "I've never had the privilege to talk much to him, but he seems a nice enough lad. Will you be wanting a refill on your cider?"

"In a few minutes, perhaps, thank you," Rose answered. It had been an odd moment, but Rosmerta seemed restored to her usual bustle now. _I suppose we all become a little abstracted now and then,_ she thought. _I'm sure there's more to Rosmerta than a fine figure and a thorough knowledge of beer and wine._ "I'm just going to find another seat." She waved, and turned back toward the tables.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were still sitting where she had left them. Glancing back toward the table where she had been sitting, she saw Katie and LeeAnn standing next to the group and having an odd-looking interaction. LeeAnn seemed to be questioning Katie earnestly about something, leaning toward her with her eyebrows knitted, while Katie held her face at neutral and gave a bland answer, then turned and walked out of the pub. LeeAnn followed her, and several of the students at their table look after them, flummoxed. Rose shook her head. They were so close to being adults, these sixth and seventh year students, and yet one could not get through a morning with them without some kind of melodrama erupting.

Sighing and smiling fondly, she made her way over to Harry's table instead. Ron was staring at Rosmerta, who was now cleaning glasses and offering a cheeky retort to a tipsy patron. Harry was glowering and silent, while Hermione looked as if she'd quite like to leave both of them at the pub and go back to the castle and her book. Harry looked up when Rose approached, however, and attempted a smile.

"Rose. Hi."

"Hello, Harry, Ron, Hermione." Rose did not wait to be asked, but sat down next to them. "Everything all right?"

"Harry's been throttling Mundungus Fletcher," Hermione told her.

Rose smiled at Harry benignly, but in her mind she ticked off, _three_. _Three bizarre teenage melodramas, just this morning. Merlin help me._ "What's he done, Harry? Oh, was it-" she remembered his words upon entering the pub. "He was the one stealing from Sirius?" she asked him in a quieter tone.

He nodded, his eyes smoldering at the memory. "He was carrying goblets with the Black crest on. He's selling them; I'd bet my last Knut."

"You don't know what a last Knut looks like," Ron scoffed, taking his eyes off of Rosmerta at last.

"And of course, it's your property. It's understandable you'd be angry," said Rose, placatingly.

Harry frowned. "It's your property too. I'm not just fussed about keeping my own."

"I know you aren't, Harry. But it's not worth getting into a fistfight over, surely?" when he still looked mutinous, Rose assured him, "I'll let the Order know."

"Thanks," he muttered.

"What are you up to today, Rose?" Hermione asked, apparently regretting she had introduced the subject.

Rose looked over her shoulder before she answered, in a low voice, "I saw Mooney this morning."

Both Harry and Hermione looked interested, and Harry had opened his mouth to ask something, but Ron beat him to it. "He just missed Tonks, then. Maybe they were meeting here. I swear, there's something between them." When Harry scoffed, Ron just shrugged. "You didn't believe me about Rose and Sirius, either."

" _Ron_ ," Hermione hissed. She shot a worried look in Rose's direction.

But Rose shook her head. "It's all right. So Tonks is here, in Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah, we just saw her outside the door," Ron said, nodding toward the front entrance of the pub.

"You know," Rose said, contemplating this, "I think I'm going to try to catch up with her. I'd like a word with Tonks." She rose from the table and pushed her chair in, smiling at the others.

"We'll come with you," Hermione said, nudging Ron and getting to her feet as well. "I think we've all had enough of Hogsmeade today."

The four of them trooped outside the pub and began to walk slowly in the direction of the castle. In the distance, they could make out Katie and LeeAnn walking slowly against the driving sleet which was slowly giving way to an early snow. The two had stepped and were having a heated discussion when a voice rang out from the village.

"Wotcher, Rose!"

They spun around. Tonks stood before them, wearing a knit cap over her mousy bob and attempting her usual cheery smile, though Rose could see that her eyes and nose were red.

"You _are_ here!" Rose cried, gladly. She turned to Harry. "I'll catch up with you three later, all right? Are you still coming to tea tonight? All of you come!" She smiled fondly at Ron and Hermione, and they assented as cheerfully as they could in the freezing wind. "Why don't you see if you can catch Katie and LeeAnn? Something's upsetting them, I think. Be careful!" she called as they walked away from her. "Don't blow away!"

Ron waved cheerfully before turning away with the others and marching off toward Katie and LeeAnn. Rose faced Tonks now, who had arrived at her side. "Tonks. I'm glad to see you. Do you want to go somewhere inside?"

"Not the Broomsticks; too crowded," Tonks answered, glancing at the students pressed against the front window. "The Hog's Head?"

Rose had not set foot in the place before, but she agreed readily. They made the unpleasant walk down the windy road and around the corner, where the wind was buffeted by the buildings to the west of them. The Hog's Head was a sordid looking building with a low ceiling, peeling, yellow whitewash and very inadequate lighting, especially in the dim weather. The barman was an old, asperous-looking man who appeared to be as much in need of a wash as the rest of his pub. He peered up at them through narrowed eyes when they entered. Tonks ignored him. After a quick look around the dining room, she directed them to a booth in the corner.

Rose leaned toward Tonks as soon as they were seated. "How are you? Are you well?"

"I saw him, this morning," was Tonks' response. Tears had come to her eyes, but she brushed them away impatiently. "I saw you both."

"But you did not show yourself," Rose said, with compassion raising within her. Tonk's red eyes and nose could have been attributed to the cold, if Rose did not know better.

"I didn't. I wanted to. But I thought he might not want to take his potion next month, if he thought I was going to ambush him." She removed her fingerless gloves with a sigh. "Thank you again for doing this. I wish he'd take it from me, but at least he's taking it."

"He looks better," Rose commented. "Could you hear what we said?"

"No," Tonks shook her head. "I wasn't close enough, and the wind was too loud. I was Disillusioned, but I stayed by that stable building anyway."

"Well. He said he is feeling better. I told him that Severus made the potion, but that he's teaching me to do it too. We made plans for him to meet me around two tomorrow, and in the evenings next week, to take the potion. And he told me he would write you." Tonks seemed to drink in Rose's words like vital sustenance, and the last words lit up her face.

"Oh, God. He said that?" When Rose nodded, Tonks exhaled and grinned. "That's brilliant. It really is. Thanks, Rose. Let me buy you a drink?"

"Only if you can conjure me a glass," Rose said, looking at the filthy bar and wrinkling her nose.

Tonks laughed, a sparkling sound in that dour pub, and withdrew her wand. She conjured glasses for both of them and tripped off in the direction of the barkeep. As she turned away, Rose thought she caught a glimpse of a strand of two of turquoise in Tonks' windswept hair.


	34. Third Flower Chapter 35

Chapter 35: Cold Framing

 **A.N. This little story reached 500 reviews this week! I'm touched and grateful for all of you taking your time to respond and give feedback and urge me to keep writing. It really helps and encourages me more than you might realize! Thank you to everyone who's reading and enjoying Rose's adventures, and a special thank you for those who took the time to review. It means a lot.**

 **The story picks up on the same October 19 where we left off, still Saturday, the day of the Hogsmeade visit. Hermione visits on November 3rd. Rose brews Wolfsbane with Severus the week of November 11th through 15th. She meets with Remus on Sunday the 17th.**

 **Readers may think I take some liberties with what the Marauder's Map is capable of communicating. I find the Map a particularly fascinating, mysterious, and impressive piece of magic. I notice in PoA that not only does the Map seems to know who is addressing it, but it also seems to understand something of the condition of that person. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs greet (and abuse) Severus Snape not as their school mate, but as a Professor. There is an intelligence to the Marauder's Map, I surmise, that must be of some comfort to its friends as well as chagrin to its enemies.**

The knock on her office door came just after eight o'clock. But when Rose strode over to the door and opened it, Harry was the only one who entered.

"Hi, _Tata_ ," he said, surprising her with a sudden, awkward hug before dropping himself unceremoniously into an armchair.

"Hello, Harry," she said, warmly, sitting back down in her own favorite chair. She wrapped her legs beside her on the chair and arranged her blanket in her lap before asking, rather tentatively, "Did Ron and Hermione have something to do?"

"Potions essay," he responded. "I've already done mine."

"Look at you, a proper student in Potions this year!" Rose teased. "But I hear you're distinguishing yourself in Professor Slughorn's classroom these days. Are you learning what it can be to be taught Potions by someone other than Severus Snape?"

"Er. Mostly that, yeah," Harry said, averting his eyes.

Rose knew him well enough by now to know that there was something he wasn't telling her. For the present, she decided not to push. "Snape must have been a difficult person to learn from if a change in professors can make such a difference," she suggested.

Harry snorted. "That's putting it mildly. If you ask him, I couldn't add one ingredient to another. He never let up; it was like trying to brew potions while being pursued by a cloud of doxies." He reached out and took one of the biscuits she was offering him and casually tossed it into his mouth.

Rose nodded. As discouraging as her brewing sessions with Snape had been thus far, she mused, he was clearly treating her with enormous favoritism by comparison. What she said aloud was, "Well, I'm glad to see you didn't blow away on your walk home from Hogsmeade." _Keep your secrets, Harry,_ she thought, _and I will keep mine._

"No," he said, sitting up suddenly, "I didn't blow away. But something else happened on the way back. Have you heard about it? Katie Bell's been cursed!"

Rose sat up too. "No, I hadn't heard!" she gasped. "Oh, poor Katie! Is it serious? What's happened? Did you see it?"

"I did. We caught up with LeeAnn and Katie like you said, and they were rowing. Then they started fighting over some object, and before we could get close enough to hear what they were saying, Katie started floating into the air, in a trance. After a second, though, she started screaming. We had to pull her down. She was still in a trance, but screaming."

" _Mon Dieu,_ " Rose breathed. Her hand went to her heart at the thought of her energetic, sweet natured student in such an ordeal. "Did you find help?"

"Hagrid happened to be coming our way. We flagged him down and he brought her to the school; she's in the hospital wing now, but they may have to take her to St. Mungo's. It was a cursed necklace that someone in The Three Broomsticks had given her; the packaging on it broke and she touched it. We had to be interviewed by McGonagall for ages." He made a face. "I have a suspicion. But nobody believes me. And that's really the other reason Ron and Hermione aren't here; they knew I'd just get on about it again and they're quite sick of hearing it."

"What is your suspicion?"

"Draco Malfoy's behind it," he responded bluntly. When Rose only raised her eyebrows, he added, "You remember what I saw in Knockturn Alley. What I heard. He wanted something fixed, and he bought something. That necklace was in Borgin and Burkes, I saw it years ago."

"You spend a lot of time in Borgin and Burkes," Rose observed, arching one eyebrow and smiling slightly.

"That time it was a mistake," Harry said, waving his hand dismissively. "But I saw the necklace then, heard it was cursed. And Malfoy heard it too. I don't know how it got it to Katie today," he went on, pausing to accept the cup of tea Rose held out to him. "-Thanks- because Malfoy was in detention with McGonagall today, and apparently not in Hogsmeade at all. But he must have an accomplice. It's sure to be him behind it." He sat back and took a sip, then placed his cup on the table beside him and leaned forward. "You didn't see anything odd at the Broomsticks today, did you?"

"As a matter of fact," Rose said slowly, "I did. But it did not involve Draco Malfoy."

"Who was it, then? What was it?" Harry asked, a light in his eyes.

"I ran into Rosmerta when I left the bathroom. Come to think of it," she added, thinking back, "Katie had just left the bathroom. Oh my-" she was remembering the blank look in Rosmerta's eyes, and Katie's odd behavior after she'd returned from the bathroom. "What did LeeAnn say happened after Katie came back from the bathroom?"

"Said she was acting strange, and had a package with her that she insisted had to be delivered to someone at Hogwarts. You said you ran into- _Madam Rosmerta?_ "

Rose nodded. "She seemed like she was a bit overwhelmed, perhaps with the traffic in the pub. Her face was a blank, and she didn't respond at first. I thought maybe she'd stepped out to get some air. Then, she perked up and started talking to me, and was completely herself again. I know what you're thinking," Rose admonished, looking up at Harry's rapt face, "But I really don't think Rosmerta is in league with Draco Malfoy, or anyone trying to curse students. She _was_ odd, for a moment there. But if she had any involvement at all, my guess is she was a witness, a witness who had just been Obliviated. It would fit with her expression, and the fact that she seemed to wake up out of a trance a minute later, and the fact she didn't seem to remember why she'd gone into the hallway."

Harry sat back, seeming to deflate. "I suppose you're right. Madam Rosmerta was probably at the wrong place at the wrong time. Whoever cursed Katie had probably just gone out the back door. Wonder if I can find someone who was having a smoke break out back, or something. Maybe they'll have seen something."

Rose shook her head. " _I_ wonder why you don't just tell Professor Dumbledore what you know, and let him take care of it. I think he's more than capable of doing all necessary investigation himself. Haven't I heard correctly that you've been having private lessons with him these days? How are those going?"

"I've only had the one so far. It's- interesting. Hard to tell how useful it's going to be, but Dumbledore seems to think it's important. He's showing me memories, information about Voldemort's past."

"Well, that sounds extremely important to me. The more you know about him, the easier it will be to discover his weaknesses."

"That's what Hermione said," Harry murmured. "Anyway, I will tell him about Rosmerta, though it probably won't do any good. Even if they question her, she won't remember, if she's been Obliviated. No, I'm going to try to poke around, ask all the smokers I know if they were out back of the Broomsticks this afternoon."

"You take a lot on yourself, Harry," Rose observed. Her tone was casual, but she looked at him fixedly. "Why?"

"Someone's got to do it!" he answered, with some heat. "I know Dumbledore's- incredible. But he's not everywhere, and he doesn't see everything. Listen," Harry said, gesturing in frustration at Rose's concerned frown. "My first year, Voldemort was under Quirrell's turban the entire year. He almost killed me. My second year, Ginny Weasley was being possessed by Voldemort, all year long. Riddle's diary was right in the girls' dormitory, every night. All third year," he went on, ticking the years off on his fingers, "Sirius Black was supposedly after me, according to the Ministry and Dumbledore and the Weasleys and everyone. And yet all the time Peter Pettigrew was sleeping in my dormitory. They were going to hand Sirius over to the Dementors! They very nearly did, he was almost Kissed!"

All traces of Rose's amusement and skepticism left her at once; she felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she looked into Harry's blazing eyes. "Fourth year," he went on, "well, you know what happened there. We had a Death Eater, teaching Defense, all year long. And last year?" His voice cracked, and he went silent. Rose was looking at him feelingly, but said nothing.

Harry cleared his throat after a moment and said, "Believe me, I wish I could just let the adults handle it. I wish I could just play Quidditch, you know? Go to Hogsmeade. Be normal. But I can't. I don't get to be normal, I'm the Chosen One." He said it with such bitterness that Rose's throat constricted.

"Harry," she murmured, at a loss as to what she was going to say to him.

He waved her emotion away. "It's fine. I mean, you don't need to worry about me. Dumbledore's helping me this year. But, all the same, I've got to keep my eyes open, haven't I?"

"I suppose you have," she said weakly. They sat in silence again, until Rose reached into her biscuit tin to pick up a chocolate. She handed it to Harry, swallowing, and said, "I think I hear Remus telling me to give you some chocolate."

He laughed, and Rose smiled to herself a moment, thinking of how much had changed since she first served him tea in the Beauxbatons carriage nearly two years ago.

She searched for a topic to lift his mood. "How's Quidditch, then, now you're off your lifetime ban?"

He brightened a bit at this. "We've only just begun, but it's a good start. It's going to be a good team. Ron made keeper again. He's nervous, but I'm sure he'll be brilliant."

"Glad to hear it. Tell him congratulations for me."

"I will," Harry assured her. Then he smirked. "And you might want to congratulate Hermione too."

"Why?" Rose gasped. "Have they gotten together at last?"

"Er, no, nothing like that. Only, she can throw an excellent Confundus charm when she wants to. Quidditch tryouts," he added, when Rose looked blank.

"She didn't- but surely she would find that sort of thing unethical? I'm surprised at her."

"I'm not sorry though," Harry replied fervently. "She kept Cormac McClaggan, the greatest git ever to sit a broom, from making the team and making our lives hell all year."

"And still. I am astonished. I mean to have a word with her. Not where anyone can hear," Rose promised, for Harry was looking as if he regretted confiding in her. She forced herself to assume a neutral expression and drop the matter. "Anyway, I'll package up some biscuits for them."

"I'd better get going," Harry said, getting to his feet, then steadying the teacup which had begun to wobble at his sudden movement. "I finished the Potions essay, but I haven't touched the Transfiguration homework. I'll need Hermione's help on that, too."

Harry took the packet of biscuits Rose was handing him and, thanking her, turned to leave. But before his Invisibility Cloak was all the way on, as his gangly, now disembodied legs stood before her door, he suddenly yanked the Cloak back off and said, "Oh, hang on, I nearly forgot." He reached into his robes and withdrew a familiar piece of parchment. "I wanted to loan you the Map," he explained, handing it to her.

She took it, puzzled, then handed it back, shaking her head. "What, for all my late-night excursions and amateur sleuthing?" She grinned at him teasingly. "You take it; you can use it to stalk Draco Malfoy more efficiently."

"Don't think I haven't tried," he said darkly, and Rose groaned internally. "No, you should borrow it for a bit, just- to talk to it. Just, you know. See what they say." He hugged himself briefly and looked at his feet, in the way he always did when talking about something related to emotions. "Are you- are you doing all right, then?"

"Well." Rose took a breath and also looked at the floor. Perhaps it was a family trait. "I'm eating. And sleeping. Much to Remus' satisfaction. Tonks has been a friend. And I have found a project to throw myself into."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'll tell you about it- another time," she promised. After last year, she imagined he might be sensitive about adults withholding information. "You have to go. But next time, I'll tell you what I'm doing." She sighed. "I suppose Remus might say I'm using it to avoid- everything."

Harry nodded, still looking at the floor. "Well. I mean, I don't know much about it," he cautioned. "But, maybe, just, do what you have to do. You know?"

She smiled. "I think I do know. Thank you, Harry. Are you doing all right? Got a project of your own to throw yourself into?"

"Always," he said, smiling wryly and looking up at her. "See you later, then. And, give the Map a try, maybe. It's helped me a little." And with a wave, he was gone.

Rose did not immediately make any use of the Map at all, except to place it next to her bed when she had gone into her bedroom. She prepared for bed that night, however, with an odd mixture of excitement and dread coursing through her. One the one hand, as powerful as the Marauders had been in their heyday, no spell could reawaken the dead. No matter what the Map was able to say to her, she knew, it would not be the same as having Sirius back. She was unsure even if it would be better than what her imagination and memory could furnish of him. And would it not be setting herself up for certain heartbreak to even attempt to use the Map in this way?

But in the end, her longing overcame her. Sirius' laughing eyes seemed to dance in her mind as, with shaking hands, she lifted the Map off her bedside table and tapped it with her wand.

After she waited a moment, her heart in her throat, the ink consolidated into a dark drop in the center of the page, then spread into the neat, controlled handwriting she now recognized from Remus' letters.

 **Mr. Mooney sends his salutations to Miss Evans, and would like to congratulate her on turning Severus Snape into a human being.**

Rose smiled. She knew Remus himself did not consciously send the message. Still, she had concluded in her previous experience with the Map that it did convey something of the speakers' actual present intention. Her smile widened as another sentence formed, still in Remus' hand.

 **He would like to add that he is grateful for Miss Evans' friendship.**

No matter what Sirius did or didn't say, Rose thought, it had been worth it to consult the Map this evening. If nothing else, the silent voices in their schoolboys' script made her feel a great deal less alone. She inhaled as the script disappeared and James' broader, looser handwriting appeared.

 **Mr. Prongs sends his greetings to Rosey, and hopes that she finds something mischievous to do at Hogwarts. He would remind her that she is, after all, an official representative of the Marauders.**

Tears were in her eyes, now. She felt almost as warm as if James himself had leaped out of the map and hugged her. And now the sweetness of the greeting contained a sharp stab of pain. What wouldn't she give to see James, to see Lily, right now? Lily and the Marauders were as much her family as her parents had been. _I'm down to one_ , she thought dully as James' writing disappeared. _It's really only Remus now who remembers those days._

There was a pause of several seconds, and she remembered what she had been anticipating. Rose's heart began to pound. Finally, Sirius' scrawl spread onto the parchment.

 **Mr. Padfoot observes that Mademoiselle is as beautiful as ever, and reminds her that she retains his heart. And that this is true regardless of Evans' proximity to his balls .**

Rose's mouth opened, but very soon she began to laugh, even through her tears. And then another greeting quickly appeared in Sirius' handwriting in the place of the first.

 **Mr. Padfoot furthermore hopes that Mademoiselle is well and flourishing wherever she goes.**

She drew her blanket around her and her head dropped to her knees. She had just given way to a quiet sob when she remembered; the Map had not finished relaying all of the Marauders' greetings. Mr. Wormtail had yet to speak. With greater loathing than she had hereto felt for him, Rose sat up and turned her eyes back to the Map to see what Peter would say.

 **Mr. Wormtail greets Rose Evans, and he hopes that she makes a better Professor than a duelist. Until next time, he remains her obedient servant, etc.**

* * *

The weeks continued as a dull trudge into winter. Rose found herself teaching less mechanically, however, with more genuine interest in the students who sat in her classroom. Still, she found she required more sleep this year than ever before in her life. Remembering Harry's words, to "do what she had to do," Rose allowed herself the indulgence of a very early bedtime most evenings. If she did not, she found the night inevitably ended in tears and a temptation to drink far too much wine in her silent chambers, envisioning Sirius' laughing eyes and warm embrace.

Rose kept the Map a week, consulting it each night before falling asleep as a comforting routine, but after around the fifth day the Map's greetings became somewhat repetitive. She tried speaking to it, but found it did not respond to this, and she could not bring herself to write on it, fearing to damage such a precious artifact. The following weekend, she kept Hermione after class, under the guise of speaking to her about an assignment, and handed Hermione the Map to give to Harry with her heartfelt thanks.

Sometimes in the evenings, she resorted to addressing Sirius, as she had done that summer day after his memorial. In her mind, he listened with alternately affectionate and teasing expressions on his face. But most nights, she turned out her light before ten o'clock. If she had to stare at the ruddy coals in her fireplace for an hour or more some nights before sleep would find her, well, it was still better than the headaches the wine would have given her in the morning.

The first Saturday in November was cold to Rose's taste, but brilliantly sunny. Frost covered the grass and sparkled in the morning sun. _Harry will be happy_ , Rose thought as she strode next to Minerva McGonagall for the Quidditch pitch, _it's perfect conditions for Quidditch._ She hoped fervently that today would be a good day for Ron, who had been flailing like a drowning man in practice lately.

And she was rewarded for her hope, for she watched Ron's heavily padded form save goal after goal, watched Ginny's lithe form score again and again, and stood up, straining, as Harry seemed to wrest the Snitch right out of the substitute Slytherin seeker's hand. It was a marvelous sight, with the team embracing one another and punching the air in triumph, and students in red and gold face paint swarming the pitch under a vividly blue sky. Minerva McGonagall was as loud as any of them, and Rose found herself joining in the clapping and cheering, feeling a surge of bewildering happiness before it happened to cross her mind that she would not be able to tell Sirius about it.

The next day, a Sunday, was quiet, rainy, and peaceful. Rose had planned her next week's lessons by mid-afternoon and was just sitting down to mark some homework when a knock at her office door startled her. "Come in," she called, and smiled, expecting to congratulate Harry on his spectacular victory. It was the first she had seen him play since that one, ill-fated match the year before, and she was still marveling at his ability in the air.

But when the door opened, it was Hermione's slighter form that entered, her frizzy hair more unkempt than usual, and her eyes unmistakably red. She had a book tucked under her arm, and she looked hesitant as she said, "Hullo, Professor. I was wondering if I might read in your office a bit. Only, the Common Room's a bit, you know, rowdy after the match."

"Still?" Rose asked, curiously. "It'd have thought they'd have calmed down by today. But certainly, you know you're always welcome, _chère._ Of course. What have you got there?"

The girl brightened slightly. " _Arithmancy of the Chaldeans: Power in Numbers_. Professor Vector recommended it." She held up the book, which seemed to be in impossibly good condition for its age.

"That looks fascinating," Rose exaggerated. "Feel free to sit by the fire. Would you like tea?" A few minutes later, Hermione was curled up in a chair by the fire, tea by her side, buried in her book. Rose returned to her marking, and for a time, she enjoyed the silent company in the office that had so often seemed melancholy to her that year. After she finished marking the fifth essay, though, she glanced up at her guest and saw that the book was lying untouched in her lap. Hermione was glaring into the fire, clearly deep in some unpleasant train of thought, and her eyes looked as if they had recently contained tears. When she gave a just-audible sniff, Rose got up.

Cautiously, she pulled her chair up next to Hermione's and sat next to her. "Can you tell me about it, Hermione?" she asked, gently.

"Oh," Hermione said, furiously brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand, "it's nothing. Childish, really. I just needed to have a think. Away from the others."

"I doubt it's nothing," Rose prodded. "And I've never known you to be childish, Hermione. What's happened?"

"Oh, just _Ron_ ," Hermione hissed, looking suddenly murderous. "I had finally worked up the nerve to, you know, ask him. I asked him to Slughorn's party. I suppose I could have been more direct. But I thought he wanted to go with me. But then all this week he's been perfectly horrible to me. I was blaming it all on Quidditch, you know. I thought he was just embarrassed and worried, you know, because he's been doing so badly in practice. But yesterday-" she put her hands to her eyes a moment, then withdrew them. Her jaw was set as she finished, "He celebrated the win by snogging Lavender Brown. They're together now."

Rose gazed at her sympathetically. "Oh no. I'm so sorry, my dear." She frowned, trying to imagine the owner of the familiar name. _Lavender Brown_ , she mused. "Is she the blonde? Laughs a lot, always thick with Parvati Patil?"

"That's the one," Hermione confirmed. "And it's fine. He's allowed to date whomever he likes." Rose looked at her skeptically, and Hermione flushed. "Well, all right, I thought maybe he'd grown up a _particle_ or two since the Yule Ball, that he was capable of being honest about what he wanted for once. But, no. Ron Weasley never has and never will grow up. I give up."

"Oh, Hermione. Don't give up! Some of them just do it in fits and starts. Two steps forward, one step back, you know." She put her hand on Hermione's smaller, brown one. "If it's any consolation, I think he really likes you. I know," she said, tapping her eye, "I'm an excellent observer of these things. I think he likes you far more than he's willing to admit to anyone, even himself."

"Then why would he- why is he behaving like this?" Hermione burst out. She looked momentarily ashamed of having asked this, but Rose squeezed her hand.

"It's hard to say for sure," she responded. "There can be so many conflicting motivations at work. But when I think about Ron Weasley, I think of someone who is extremely loyal, and good-humored and brave, but who also might be the single most _embarrassed_ person I have ever met." Hermione gave a teary-eyed laugh, and Rose continued. "You said it yourself, it was embarrassment that was the matter with him this week. And now that he's had a good day, you know, saving all those goals at Quidditch yesterday, well, he's found something to do with his embarrassment, something that makes him feel worthy. It is not . . . admirable," she admitted, looking over at Hermione's red-rimmed eyes, "but it is, perhaps, explainable."

"All he had to do was _feel_ worthy." Hermione looked lost in thought. Rose sat back in her seat and reached for her tea. "Harry was right," Hermione went on, then rolled her eyes. "Oh, I can't believe I've just said that."

"What was my ridiculous nephew right about, _chère_?" Rose asked her, amused.

"He knew Ron only needed to feel differently about himself. Do you know what he did this morning? I almost reported him to Professor McGonagall, honest to Merlin. He's unbelievable. Harry actually pretended to pour his Felix Felicis into Ron's pumpkin juice. Only, I thought he'd really done it. And so did Ron." For the first time that afternoon, a trace of amusement showed on the girl's face. "Ron played brilliantly, made all those saves, because he _thought_ he was lucky."

"Imagine what he could do if he believed he was a good person," Rose said, fighting a wide smile at Harry's stunt.

When Hermione left her that night, after a steadying hug and a steaming cup of Rose's favorite _chocolat,_ Rose thought to herself that the Map had been wrong, that James had been wrong. _I am not the Marauders' representative at Hogwarts, James_ , she thought, shaking her head as she stared out at the Autumn rain. _You were right, Paddy. Harry is_ just like _James._

* * *

Rose could not be certain, but she thought she was getting better at brewing Wolfsbane potion. She got this impression from many subtle indicators during her brewing sessions in Severus' office that November. First, there was the complete absence of sneers on Snape's face when he glanced at her pulverized quicksilver. She had used the mortar and pestle from the start, this time, and had ground it with energy until its texture looked identical to the one Snape himself produced. Then there was the infinitesimally short approving nod which he had given upon smelling her potion after the addition of the Valerian root. If she had not been looking at him fixedly as soon as he'd approached her cauldron, she would not have caught it. But there it was, a short, reflexive jerk, and she bit her lips to keep from smiling at the sight.

But she received the most definitive proof that her Wolfsbane-brewing abilities were indeed improving when she executed her deftest-yet addition of the tiny grains of powdered silver. Rather than trying to add it one-handed while the other hand stirred, she enchanted the stirring spoon to carry on smoothly blending the potion while she measured out the silver, mote by mote, watching with satisfaction as it was absorbed evenly into her potion. When it was all added and she observed only the smallest clump in her potion's texture this time, it was all she could do to keep from clapping her hands in delight. Severus caught the jerk her hands gave and came closer to inspect her cauldron.

"As you can see, the consistency can only be achieved if measurements are uniform. Enchanting the spoon," he said, frowning now, "was risky. It is much harder to adjust the speed of an enchanted object than of one's own hand. Still," he said, grudgingly, "it was not ineffective in this case."

"I practiced that," she admitted.

" _Practicing._ Now that is a strategy that seems never to have occurred to any of my students before," Severus said dryly, and Rose could not help but chuckle.

On Friday, when Severus dropped the skullcap leaf into his potion, it once again floated easily over the surface, as if it had been dropped into clear water instead of the dark, viscous portion that undulated at a rolling boil. When he dropped the leaf into Rose's potion, Rose tensed, preparing to watch it wither instantly. Its edges curled and blackened within seconds of contact with Rose's potion, but it did not evaporate. Indeed, the center of the leaf remained its original dark green.

Snape said nothing, but watched the progress of the leaf around the cauldron with a face like a mask.

"Would it kill him?" Rose asked, hesitantly.

Snape shook his head. "It would make him quite ill. But, I doubt it would kill him, no. Do you want to use it?"

He asked the question so indifferently that Rose was suddenly irritated. "Of course not," she almost snapped. "I will collect yours tomorrow morning, as before. If you will still allow me to."

He only nodded curtly. Rose felt slightly ashamed as they cleaned up the office, returning ingredients to the storage cupboard and Vanishing the contents of Rose's cauldron with anticlimactic haste. As she prepared to leave him, Rose remembered the words of Messr. Mooney on the Map, and she turned. "Thank you, Severus," she said, only a little bit grudgingly.

He returned her look with a perfectly neutral expression, then nodded and looked away. "I shall leave the office unlocked while I am at breakfast," was all he said.

* * *

Remus was there before Rose arrived that Sunday morning, the steaming thermos concealed in her bag as usual. She had slept rather late, and had almost jogged the last distance to their meeting place. "I'm sorry," she called to him, still many meters from the sheep-gate. "I seem to be dragging a bit this week. It's here."

He greeted her pleasantly and inquired after her well-being, and Harry's, before he drank. When he finished, she handed him a peppermint. "I thought it might help with the taste."

"Thank you, Rose," he said, accepting it. After popping it into his mouth, Remus asked, "Was that from Snape's cauldron again?"

"Certainly," Rose affirmed. "Do you think I want you poisoned, Remy?"

He laughed. "Was it any better this time?"

"He won't say so in so many words," Rose answered, "But you know? I think it was. It didn't quite burn the skullcap leaf to a cinder, at least."

"Who would have thought?" Remus wondered, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Who would have thought that our Rosey would be the one to turn Severus Snape into a human being?" Remus' mouth twisted into a wry smile, but then he frowned, because Rose's mouth had dropped open. She was thinking of Remus' tidy writing on the Map.

She shut it swiftly, however, and only said, "That power does not belong to me, Remus. Make no mistake."

She must have looked a bit stricken, as the words of all the Marauders from the map washed over her mind. Remus said, "I hope I haven't offended you. I did mean only to complement your diplomacy."

"I know that, Mooney." Rose broke out of her reverie and smiled at him. "Oh- and before I forget. Next month. The full moon, it's Christmas Eve. What will you do for Christmas Day? If you think I'm leaving you to pull crackers with Fenrir Greyback in Yorkshire, you can think again," she told him, holding up a threatening finger. "I won't hear of it. Do you want to come to Grimmauld and rest?"

"Perhaps," he agreed "Molly has invited me to dinner, though she says she understands if I'm not up to it. But, last month I felt far better than usual the morning after the moon, so perhaps I will pull a cracker one of the Weasleys. Or with you? Will you be at the Burrow for Christmas?"

"Probably. Harry will be there. He's my only family. Besides you, that is, Mooney." Rose squeezed his arm, and he responded by pulling her into a sideways hug. There was a snap in one of the bushes by the stable. If Remus heard the noise, however, he did not comment upon it.

"You should pull a cracker with Tonks," she told him while his arm was still around her. "She told me you wrote her. That was well done, I think."

"I know what you think," he said, dryly.

"I still think it," she told him.

Before five minutes had passed, they said their goodbyes, promising to meet again the following evening. The moment he had Disapparated, Rose turned around and lifted up her voice. "Come on out then, Tonks." There was a scuffle, and for a moment it looked as if Tonks would not be able to free herself from the bush. Then she emerged, tousled and leafy, and gave Rose a chagrined smile. "I can't help it."

"I don't blame you a particle," Rose replied, striding over to hug her friend. "Let's get tea, shall we? _Putain de merde_ ,1 but it's cold in Scotland today."

1 Holy shit!


	35. Third Flower Chapter 36

Third Flower Chapter 36: Pollen

 **A.N. I try very hard with this fic to be both canon compliant and calendar compliant. But sometimes Jo, our dear Jo, our Queen, who gave us all life, first of her name, Mother of Dragons, etc., etc., sometimes dear readers, Jo makes this hard. As in this instance, where calendars clearly testify that December 24th, 1996 was a full moon, while Remus is depicted as actively present on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day events at The Burrow in HBP. I felt fairly painted into a corner, so I hope my depiction splits the difference in a manner my readers find acceptable.**

The sun set early on Christmas Eve, so near to the solstice. It had only just gone four when Rose noticed red beams glaring through the Weasleys' west-facing kitchen window, illuminating Fleur's hair and temporarily making her look like a Weasley. They were making some late tea preparations, but Rose excused herself when she saw the change in the light. "I would like a little fresh air, I think," she explained, side-stepping Molly toward the door.

"Of course, dear." Molly nodded, a sympathetic look on her face. She imagined, perhaps, that Rose was experiencing a sudden surge of grief for Sirius. But as Rose lowered herself onto the front stoop and leaned back onto her hands, staring at the blazing west, it was to a different Marauder that her mind was directed. Somewhere in Yorkshire, she knew, Remus was undergoing that painful transition which temporarily stole his dignity, his humanity, and his right to be among friends and family, even on Christmas Eve. At least this month it would not take his mind.

Rose mused on her own for several minutes before she heard the door open behind her. Harry stepped out and sat down on the step beside her. "All right, _Tata_?"

"Everything's fine, Harry. Well, for me." She sighed and glanced at the spot on the western hill where she had last seen the sun. A chilly twilight had set in, now. "Remus is out there," she explained to Harry's slight frown.

"Ah. Of course." He glanced back at the house, where they could hear music playing from the Weasleys' wireless. "Where is he spending it?"

"In Yorkshire, at the camp. He'll tell you about it tomorrow, assuming he's well enough to come to lunch. I suggested that he transform at Grimmauld, but he said he'd lose the trust of the pack if he left now, and he seems to be making some progress, there. I'm going to fetch him in the morning." Rose sighed again, and then chuckled softly. "At times like this, I wish I smoked."

Harry huffed a short laugh, then leaned onto his elbows and hugged himself.

"Why don't you go in if you're cold?" Rose suggested. "I'm all right, Harry."

"I like a little quiet sometimes," Harry admitted. "I mean, I love it here. Closest thing I've felt to home. But sometimes, you know-"

"It's a bit too full," she agreed, and Harry nodded. "Well, since you're here, why don't I tell you about what I've been up to with Severus Snape?"

* * *

Rose woke well before the dawn. She had not spent the night at the Weasleys, not wishing to wake anyone when she arose early for her errand, though she had stayed rather late. Just as the London sky was lightning to cerulean, she gave her hair a final pat, put on her wool cloak, and stepped out of her flat into the cold December morning.

When she Apparated on the craggy moor which Remus had described, her first sensation was of violent wind and a much greater cold than she had left behind in London. She looked out over the desolate landscape, patched here and there with snow, and saw it in the distance. The Camp. A tent village containing between eighty and one hundred tents spread along a craggy hill. Many of the tents appeared to have been knocked down, shredded, or otherwise destroyed very recently, but no one was visible making any effort to repair them. No friendly plumes of smoke came from any of the fire pits. If the camp was not completely empty, it was, at least, devoid of movement as the first gleams of sunlight made their way between the distant hills.

Rose shook her head and shivered. It was a grim place to spend Christmas Day. Her heart suddenly went out to the many dozens of people, newly restored to their senses, who would soon wake up here and spend the holiday in the cold, without friends or family to welcome them. _But that does not have to be Remus' fate,_ she reminded herself. She began to walk, as he had directed her, toward a gnarled tree in a scrubby ditch a little ways away from her.

She found him in the act of trying to pull the plaid robes that had once belonged to Sirius over his head, and shivering. It was evident from his feeble movements that, were it not for her arrival, he would have preferred to lie on the grass without moving for several more hours. She strode over to him and crouched down. "Remus," she whispered, but he still jumped.

"Rose," he croaked in response, clumsily pulling at his robe to try to get it to cover more of his body.

"Are your things nearby, or in the camp?"

He nodded toward the gnarled tree, and she followed his gesture to find a small bundle of fabric concealed in the brush. She brought it to him, and dug through it to find his wand and a metal mug, which she filled with water using her wand. He drank gratefully while Rose gathered up his things and helped him to put a second, warmer, robe over the plaid one. When this was accomplished, she helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly, but stood.

"Ready?" she asked, taking his hand.

He nodded. "If I vomit," he said, in a voice that sounded as if it had not been used for years, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly," she said quietly. "What's a little vomit between friends?" And smiling at him briefly, she turned on the spot.

The now-usual mixture of decidedly negative emotions met her as they Apparated on the threshold of Grimmauld Place. This was hardly a better place to be found on Christmas Day than the werewolf camp had been. And yet, last Christmas, it had been the site of the Order's Christmas dance, a memory so replete with joy that Rose had almost been able to use it to conjure a Patronus. Now, the house seemed gloomier than ever before in comparison.

It was enough to get Remus onto the drawing room sofa; Rose did not attempt to get him up the stairs. He groaned as he lay back, stretching his lanky frame over the dusty upholstery. While she filled his tin cup again, he spoke.

"You shouldn't have to be here on Christmas, doing this. In a few hours I'd have been able to Apparate on my own."

"And leave you to welcome Christmas Day in that wasteland?" Rose scoffed. "That's not likely. With some tea and some rest in the warm, there's a chance you might not be ill. Are you feeling better than you usually do? The Potion did work, didn't it?" she asked, suddenly frowning in concern

"It did," he replied. "I don't think I did myself any injury. I just feel . . . quite . . . _very_ hung over."

"Well, _that_ we can manage," Rose said, smiling. "There's a whole arsenal of potions and powders in the kitchen to treat everything from a Billiwig Sting to Dragon Pox. But you know, Sirius always said the only cure for a hangover is a stiff cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich. Would you like-?"

"Please don't talk about food," he begged, looking grey in the face.

"Tea, then," Rose said decidedly. "I'll just go and rustle something up." Before she left the room, Rose walked over to a chair where a pillow, sheet, and two blankets had been helpfully stacked, as she knew they would be. She spread the lighter of the two blankets over Remus and briefly placed her hand on his forehead. Dimly, she could remember her own mother doing this for her, when she had been ill as a child, and it bringing her comfort. Remus closed his eyes at the touch and smiled faintly. He did not seem overly warm.

In the kitchen, Rose found Tonks warming a vat of broth over the stove. "Happy Christmas," Rose whispered, smiling at her.

"Happy Christmas!" Tonks whispered back, and winked, though she looked tired. "I've got tea here, and bacon and eggs. There's bread as well, for toast. I suppose he's not hungry?"

"Won't hear mention of food," Rose replied, still in a whisper. "But perhaps that will change. He does not appear to be injured, and I don't think he's feverish this time. Is the medicine kit . . ."

"There," Tonks said, motioning to a large, green tackle-box on the kitchen table.

Rose rummaged through it and located a headache powder. "Think we should treat the headache and nausea separately, or what about offering a hangover cure? He did say that he felt dreadfully hung over."

"It amounts to the same thing," Tonks said, shrugging. "The hangover cure hits your head and your stomach, and even has a dose of Pepper-Up. Actually, though, maybe that's not the best idea, if he wants to sleep?"

"I'll let him choose," Rose decided. She poured a glass of water and fumbled with the three or four potions or powders she wanted to carry until Tonks looked up from the teapot and came over to help her balance them. Together, in whispers, they decided on having Rose levitate the water, and to direct it before her with her wand hand, which could also support the jars and bottles in her left.

"I've got a variety of cures for you, Remus," Rose said, entering the drawing room and keeping her voice low in case he was asleep. He opened his eyes immediately and watched her with bleary eyes as she put the array of medicines on the end table and plucked the glass of water out of the air.

Then she chuckled, as a memory occurred to her. "Sirius did this with my bundles on Diagon Alley when I was eleven. I was very impressed, I can tell you. I thought he was some kind of a god. It was the first time I really thought that there might be something to learning magic."

She pulled over a chair and began to hold up the bottles in succession. "So, we can treat your symptoms one by one, with a headache powder and anti-nausea medicine. Or we can try the hangover cure," she said, raising her eyebrows at him and smiling. "I know you haven't been drinking, but I thought the symptoms seemed to fit. Only thing is, if you want to sleep-"

"The hangover cure has Pepper-Up," Remus finished for her. His voice sounded slightly less croaky, though still exhausted. "I think I'd better take the individual medicines, thank you very much, Rose. It'd be good to get a nap in," he was saying, until he was interrupted by a CRASH from the kitchen.

Rose leapt to her feet. "Oh dear, it seems some of the groceries I brought have toppled. I'll just go and-"

Remus lifted a weary hand to silence her. "On second thought, I think I'll take the hangover cure after all." Then he raised his voice. "Tonks? Come on in here, then."

A frustrated moan sounded from the kitchen, and despite how ill he must feel and how unwelcome Rose thought Tonks' presence must be to him, a smile twitched at Remus' lips as Tonks' footsteps begin to creak into the hall towards them.

"Wotcher, Remus," Tonks said, half remorsefully, half defiantly when she arrived in the drawing room.

"Hello," he said. He glanced at Rose somewhat reproachfully before adding to Tonks, "You look well."

"It's not Rose's fault I'm here, Remus. So don't blame her. I wanted to help." Tonks put her hand on one of her generous hips and tilted her head to the side.

"Tonks brought the medicine kit, and she set out the blankets and pillows. She just wanted to help make you comfortable, that's all," Rose put in.

"It's all right. I appreciate that, Tonks. Thank you." He said it with perfect sincerity, but there was wariness in his expression. "Have you- have you been well?"

"You know how I've been," Tonks answered, still with her hand on her hip. "I know you get my letters."

"Yes," he agreed, somewhat apologetically.

Tonks made an impatient noise. "Come on, then, why don't you have your potion." She strode over to where Rose had arranged the row of bottles, squatted down beside him, and seized the one containing the hangover cure. "Still the one you want?" she asked, and when he nodded, she squeezed several drops of the liquid in the bottle into the glass of water Rose had brought, then handed him the glass. "Bottoms up," she instructed, and he dutifully drank.

Rose's discomfort was growing. They had not planned on Tonks being discovered. Their plan had been to restore him sufficiently to well-being so that he might attend the Weasley's Christmas lunch, where Tonks could happen to join due to a last-minute change to her holiday plans. They had intended for others to be in the room when the two were reunited, and for there to be hours of Christmas conviviality to make defeat of as much of Remus' awkwardness and reticence as possible.

Now, with Remus looking so guardedly at Tonks, and Tonks already on the defensive, Rose did not rightly know which way to look or where to go. _Surely I would do better to leave,_ she thought. _Go back to the Weasleys, leave them to- whatever this is going to be._ But just then, Tonks shot her a look that told her quite plainly that she wanted Rose to stay. So she just sank into a chair, trying to ignore the growing ache that these surroundings were giving her now that Sirius was no longer there.

"My experience is these usually take around fifteen minutes to work," Tonks said, seemingly just to say something.

"That is my experience as well," he replied. When Tonks raised her eyebrows at him, he said, "Oh, come now. Just because my best friends could, and frequently did, drink me under the table, doesn't mean I'm not familiar with hangovers. I know you think I'm an old recluse-"

"I don't," she interrupted. "You know I don't think any such thing. But _I_ know that you think I'm too young and unthinking to make my own decisions."

He closed his eyes, looking miserable. "Dora," he said quietly. "Do we have to do this now?"

Tonks' eyes were blazing, but at his expression she softened a little. "Well. It's Christmas," she allowed. When she said nothing more right away, he looked enormously relieved and sat back heavily against his pillow again. "It is really shit timing, a full moon on Christmas Eve," Tonks said.

"It happens," he answered. "It fell on a Christmas Day my last year at Hogwarts."

"Oh, Mooney, how horrible," said Rose, partly to remind the two of her presence. "Had you gone home?"

"No, we all stayed at Hogwarts. James, Sirius, Peter, all of us. It was the only Christmas they all stayed. Even Lily was there. She found out about me in fifth year, and she used to stay up in the dormitory and patch the boys up when they got back from full moons. I was always seen to by the matron, of course, but the others weren't supposed to have left their dorms. Lily always saw to it that they had no open wounds or broken bones by the time everyone else was up; she was an excellent confederate. Practically a fifth Marauder. You're very much like her, really," smiling faintly at Rose.

"It was Tonks that patched you up last July," she reminded him, and Tonks shot her a grateful look.

"I haven't wanted for friends since the Order reconvened. It is true. I am grateful, to both of you," he said, but his gaze was resting on Tonks now.

"I've missed you, you stupid arse," Tonks told him, frankly. "You wrote me one lousy letter in all these months. Is it any wonder I've had to resort to stealth?"

Remus looked at her with a glint in his eye. "Stealth and Tracking never was your forte," was all he said.

"Yeah, well, passing over my complete inability to navigate three dimensional space," she said, waving her black-tipped fingers in dismissal while Remus smiled again, "I _was_ trying to give _you_ space. What you wanted." She said this accusingly, but Remus did not seem affronted. He looked into her eyes.

"I don't want space from you," he began slowly, and the lines in her face relaxed somewhat at this. But he continued, "I want you to have space from me. I want you to get past this, to find someone worth loving. I want you to turn your hair turquoise and acid green and magenta again. His voice was very quiet, but not so quiet that Rose could not hear. Her feeling of awkwardness increased. She knew what Tonks feared; if she, Rose, were to leave, Remus might look for reasons to leave as well, accompanying her to the Weasleys, perhaps, or perhaps simply disappearing and spending Christmas at the Camp, or somewhere else. But more and more it felt like eavesdropping to remain.

Tonks had bypassed irritation and was now solidly angry. "But, if I've decided _you're_ worth loving, well, that doesn't matter, does it? Because you know better? It's a bit condescending, don't you think, Rose?"

Rose stood, now. "I do think so, and what's more, Remus knows that I think so. And it may be cheap, Remus, but I just have to say it: Sirius thought you were being ridiculous too. However," and she lifted her hands, for Remus was giving every indication that he was about to interrupt, "This is your conversation to have. You know my feelings. And I love you both. Talk. Stay, and eat, and recover, for Merlin's sake, Remus. And Tonks, maybe give the hangover cure a chance to work?" She looked at them both in turn, then folded her arms. "I hope to see you both at The Burrow for lunch. I won't be the only one who will be disappointed if you don't come."

With that, Rose picked up the small bag she had brought with her, took out her wand, and stepped onto the porch to Disapparate.

* * *

When Ginny answered the Weasleys' door and she entered the house, Rose felt that there could hardly be a greater contrast with the house she had left behind. The house was bursting with motion, sound, light, and an abundance of smells. The family were all in various stages of breakfast when Rose arrived. Ron, Harry, Arthur and the twins, having already eaten, were outside, on their brooms, throwing a Quaffle around. Fleur and Bill were tucking in to some sausages and thin, dappled pancakes. Molly was just putting another plate of food on the table; Ginny resumed her seat as Rose entered behind her.

"Good morning, Weasleys! Happy Christmas!" Rose greeted them, suddenly more cheerful than she'd felt in weeks. Their greetings, the warmth of the kitchen and the smells of the food, when contrasted with the musty cold at Grimmauld Place and the bleak chill at the werewolf camp, made her feel she was thawing out from within. At Molly's invitation, she sat down, next to Fleur, to a very welcome breakfast.

" _Joyeux Noël, Mademoiselle Evans_ ," Fleur chirped, smiling entrancingly from her position under Bill's arm.

" _Joyeux Noël,_ Fleur, _chère_ ," Rose returned, but she spoke no more French over breakfast so as not to exclude the Weasleys. She made a mental note to have a chat with Fleur later, however. She noticed that every person she had seen so far, including Harry, was wearing one of Molly's signature Christmas jumpers. Only Fleur appeared out of this uniform, and whether it was because Fleur did not like her jumper, or because she had not received one, Rose could not make up her mind. The conversation at the breakfast table was sparse; Bill and Fleur remained cozied in the corner, their chairs so close they formed a bench, while Ginny ate wolfishly quickly so as to get outside before the boys were finished flying.

"And how are you doing, Rose dear?" Molly asked when Rose was sipping tea between mouthfuls.

"I'm well enough, Molly, thank you! I am ready for a rest, though. I've been to Yorkshire and London and Devon already and it's not yet gone ten o'clock."

"Seeing to Remus, were you?" Molly asked, and, when Rose confirmed this, continued, "And how is he? Do you think he and Tonks will be making it to Christmas lunch?"

"I really couldn't say," Rose replied honestly. "They were having a conversation at Grimmauld when I left. I think it rather depends on how that goes."

Molly gave a knowing roll of the eyes and nodded. "Well, we'll be ready for them either way."

Though Devon was sunny for Christmas morning, it was seasonably cold, so that when Ginny, Ron, the twins, and Harry trooped in from their pick-up quidditch game, their cheeks were glowing and their eyes were streaming from the icy wind.

"Rose! Happy Christmas!" Harry called from the mudroom.

"Happy Christmas!" she called back, and when he entered the kitchen, still with an atmosphere of cold, fresh air clinging to him, she jumped to her feet to hug him. "You've grown since yesterday," she accused, and he grinned.

"Thanks for the gifts, Rose, really. Cheers."

"Oh, did the clothes fit you, then? The jeans, the shirts? At least, better than Dudley's cast-offs?" Then she clapped her hands, for he was motioning to the jeans he was wearing with his new Weasley jumper. They were indeed the wizarding jeans she had bought him from the fashion-forward little shop on Diagon Alley, the ones whose hems would automatically extend when the wearer grew, and they appeared to fit Harry perfectly.

"They're perfect. Thanks a lot. And listen, I have something for you."

"There are several parcels for you in sitting room, Rose," Mrs. Weasley put in.

Rose's eyebrows went up in surprise, but she followed Harry into the sitting room where the twins, Ginny, and Ron were lounging and trading their Christmas sweets.

"Happy Christmas, all. Are you pleased with your gifts this year?" Her greeting was returned and she received general acquiescence to this. She couldn't resist adding, "Ron? Any good gifts from Lavender today?"

Ron tried to smile nonchalantly, but his face made it clear that this was a sore subject. The twins, however, looked at each other gleefully as Ron turned brilliantly red.

"What'd she give you, then, Ronnykins? A troll head to snog over the holiday?"

"A pair of manacles to wear to your next rendezvous?"

"Satin sheets!"

"Got to be a year's supply of Serum of Adonis; she can't possibly stand looking at his ugly mug for much longer."

"Or maybe she's had enough of him at last. She's given him clothes, she's freed him!"

The two were lying on the rug before the hearth, gesturing theatrically and showing more delight with each new grimace from Ron.

"Sod off, you twats," he muttered. "Sorry, Rose," he added immediately, but still looked thunderous.

"It's my fault, really," Rose protested, lifting her hands. "Gentlemen, really! Surely you have done your fraternal duty by now."

"Not until we find the present!" Fred insisted.

"And we will find it," George added, threateningly. "Trust us, little brother, we will know what Lav-Lav's sent you. It's for your own safety, really."

"Yeah, what if she's dosing you with love potion or something?" Fred posed.

"If she is, she probably bought it from you lot," Harry told them. "Here are your gifts, _Tata_ ," he added to Rose, gesturing to a small pile of parcels under the colorfully decorated tree. Rose, however, glanced up. She was noticing the decorations, which had been underway when she'd left, for the first time. They were mostly traditional, if a bit heavy on the paper chain end of things, but Rose could make out a garden gnome, apparently painted gold and snoring raucously from the crook of the topmost branches.

" _Criard, n'est-ce pas_?"1 commented Fleur as she and Bill walked in and seated themselves upon the small sofa.

" _C'est… très festif_ ,"2 Rose returned, laughing, as she reached for the first parcel. She could tell from the shape that it was an LP, and she read with a slight pang the note that accompanied it.

 _Dear Rose, thank you for being a friend, to me and to R. Happy Christmas! I know Sirius left you his record player, so I popped into Euterpe and got you this. Give it an honest try, why don't you? Love, Tonks_

Pulling away the wrapping, Rose found the latest Weird Sisters album and smiled. "For Tonks, I'll give it a go," she said to herself. Ginny, who was nearest her, chuckled. Opening the next parcel, she found a pair of very soft, hand-knitted mittens from Mrs. Weasley. In the third, Remus had given her a small box of chocolates and a paperback copy of Collete's _Gigi_. "Oh, I've been meaning to read that. Bless him," she said, fondly.

"This one's from me," Harry said, putting a soft, hastily wrapped bundle in her hands. "Er, sorry about the- I'm not much for wrapping."

"It's quite all right! You didn't have to get me anything at all, I hope you know."

"Well. You've definitely given _me_ enough gifts." They smiled at one another briefly, both remembering the box of twenty-six unopened gifts from the Dursleys' attic. Then, Rose fell to opening the parcel from Harry.

When she had it open and saw what it was, Rose knew a few moments of struggle. _Don't cry. He hates it. Don't, don't cry,_ she thought frantically, as her old habit of avoiding tears and her new habit of embracing them briefly came into fierce conflict. For inside the paper, folded into a rather messy heap, was a brand new Gryffindor scarf.

"Oh, Harry," was all she could trust herself to say.

"I thought you could wear it to Quidditch matches," he said quickly. "I mean, because, I don't know if you'd want to be in Gryffindor. Or if you'd have been in Gryffindor. I mean, if you had wanted to, I'm sure you'd have gotten in. I just thought you should have one," he jabbered.

After Rose had swallowed hard, she looked up and grinned at him. "It's perfect. I'm honored. Thank you."

"Yeah, sure. You're welcome. Happy Christmas," he said, his face earnest but so red that Rose refrained from hugging him. Instead, she put the red and gold striped wool about her neck and tied it an overhand knot over her robes.

"That looks about right," came a voice from the direction of the kitchen. Everyone looked up. Remus stood in the doorway, wearing a dark green overcoat and looking as if he had only just come in from the cold. His face was ruddy, and despite the deep lines in his face, his expression was cheerful, even merry. There was no sign of indisposition about him whatsoever.

The room erupted with greetings, the twins and Bill jumping up to shake his hand. Rose jumped to her feet to embrace him. "Hangover cure worked, then, did it?" she asked quietly in his ear.

"Flawlessly," he responded into hers. They broke apart and he sat down in a worn armchair near the tree. Molly came in and turned on the Christmas broadcast of Celestina Warbeck's show, to which she had been looking forward all day. Arthur also entered and seated himself in his accustomed chair, and Harry immediately sidled over to talk to him. Rose took advantage of the heightened noise in the room to lean toward Remus.

"So… Tonks?"

"Will not be coming to lunch, no," Remus sighed.

There was a moment where they looked at each other, Rose hoping for more information, but unwilling to press him, while Remus just looked all sadness and resignation and communicated nothing more. Rose reached out and patted his hand.

"Never mind, Remy. You'll sort this out in time, I know." He gave her a small smile. "Anyway," she continued, "I'll have to find another time to deliver her Christmas gift. You're going to laugh when I give you yours." And she darted over to her carpet bag to retrieve the parcel.

"Rose, you give me a gift every month," Remus protested, though he was smiling as he took it from her.

"Yes, and it's disgusting. I'd like to give you something that's less unpleasant to consume, if you don't mind." She waited a moment while he opened the wrapping, and was rewarded when he did laugh.

"A book... and chocolates," he chuckled. "I remember you saying how alike we are. Oh, and Seneca! Thank you! You remembered my passion for Stoic philosophy."

"I hardly think they'd approve of you having a passion for them, or for anything else," she answered, and he gave an approving grin. The twinkle, which occasionally made its way into his eyes, was in full display.

"Thank you, Rosey," he said again.

"Thank _you_ for the Colette! I've been meaning to read it."

"I hoped you'd like that," he said, "I did." He lowered his gaze to the copy of _Essays of Seneca_ in his lap, but then appeared to prick up his ears as Harry's voice floated over to them from Arthur Weasley's corner of the sitting room.

"Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked . . . but this is something different. . . . Well, something more ..."

Harry was in the process telling Mr. Weasley about the conversation he had overheard between Snape and Draco Malfoy during Slughorn's Christmas party. Remus leaned in to hear him better; Rose, who had heard the story and Harry's latest theory about Draco Malfoy already, moved to sit next to Fleur. Fleur was talking rather loudly with Bill, to the obvious irritation of Molly who kept raising the volume of the wireless with her wand.

" _Pourquoi ne laissons-nous pas votre belle-mère profiter de sa musique_?" Rose asked, after a quick look at Molly's face. " _Allons dans la cuisine et ajoutons des épices au vin_."3

Christmas lunch, which they ate late at about two in the afternoon, found them all packed tightly into the Weasleys' kitchen. Still, they were snug and happy with each other, despite the complete lack of elbow room. Rose was eating a deliberately large lunch and gulping water; she had already had two glasses of mulled wine and she suspected that more drinking would follow lunch. She listened in a sleepy haze to the conversations around her, but sat up a bit straighter when Harry addressed Lupin from across the table.

"Tonks's Patronus has changed its form," Harry told him. "Snape said so anyway. I didn't know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?"

She and Remus glanced at each other. Remus' eyebrows were raised; he was clearly asking Rose for confirmation. Rose nodded at him and shot him a meaning look before returning her eyes to her parsnips. Remus cleared his throat, looking rather awkward, then responded to Harry,, "Sometimes ... a great shock ... an emotional up-heaval ..."

"It looked big, and it had four legs," Harry said insistently. "Hey ... it couldn't be - ?"

But Remus was spared any further embarrassment on this subject by the sudden arrival of two men, Apparating in the garden. "Arthur!" Molly cried, and when they all looked out of the window they were astonished to see Percy Weasley approaching the house, in the company of none other than the new Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour.

She watched Molly throw herself, sobbing, onto Percy's neck with a pang. No one else seemed to be in any doubt that this visit would not have happened but for some agenda of Scrimgeour's, and they all watched him guardedly as he made a patently insincere attempt to pass off the visit as a mere friendly holiday call. Fortunately, he did not make them wait long to find out his purpose.

"No, no, I assure you I don't want to butt in!" Scrimgeour insisted, shaking his gray-flecked mane and smiling a jovial smile which did not reach his eyes. "Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden . . . Ah, that young man's finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?" He was nodding toward Harry.

Everyone stiffened. Rose could feel her nostrils flaring with dislike, for in minutes she had learned to distrust this man almost as much as she had distrusted his predecessor. She glanced at Harry, who was looking startled, then at Remus, who had begun to rise from his chair. "It's fine," Harry told him, then turned to the Minister.

"Yeah, all right."

Scrimgeour nodded briskly and turned to the door. Harry began to follow, but halted when Rose called to him.

"Harry?"

He looked at her.

" _Te laisse pas emmerder,_ "4 she told him, in a quiet but clear voice.

For a moment, the frown on his face disappeared. " _Oui, Tata_ ," he said, with a half smile, before walking out the door after the Minister of Magic.

* * *

"So, then he stopped pretending to be diplomatic and just starting asking questions," Harry was saying, his legs stretched up against the wall where he lay on the camp bed in Ron's room. Rose had seated herself on the edge of Ron's bed, with Ron stretched out on the messy floor. It was evening, and Rose had responded to a very significant look of Harry's and followed him and Ron to their bedroom to debrief after tea.

"What did he want to know?" Ron asked, reaching behind him and removing a balled sock from under his back.

"Mostly about Dumbledore, and the Order. Where was Dumbledore, what's he up to, what did I know about the organization that calls itself The Order of the Phoenix? I didn't tell him anything," Harry assured them.

"Good," said Rose, nodding.

Ron was shaking his head in disbelief. "I still can't believe Scrimgeour had the nerve to ask you to help the Ministry."

"Yeah. I might have gotten a little tart with him," Harry confessed.

"Oh?" Rose asked, raising her eyebrows and trying to conceal a smile. "What did you say?"

"Told him I was surprised, since I didn't remember the Ministry being very interested in helping me out last year," Harry answered coolly. "And I might have held up my hand, you know. To remind him." Harry held up his fist in demonstration, on the back of which Rose and Ron could clearly read the words, " _I must not tell lies._ "

"Fair enough," Rose affirmed, to Ron's nod of agreement. "Well done; you listened to your Auntie after all." He threw a pillow at her, which she knocked away with a swift gesture, smirking.

When she went to pick it up, Rose saw a glimmer of gold underneath the pillow and picked it up too, intrigued. It was a heavy gold chain with a pendant at the center that spelled out the words "My Sweetheart." She stared at it in perplexity for a beat, then flashed a coy smile in Ron's direction. "Is this it, then? Lavender's gift?"

Ron went red, scowled, and nodded, but offered no comment

"Well, don't worry. Fred and George won't learn about it from me," she assured him, beginning to untangle a knot in the chain.

"Thanks," he muttered. Harry grinned and kicked at him, but he just rolled his eyes.

Rose looked up from the chain to fix Ron with a look. "Ron Weasley," she said sorrowfully. "Whatever are you doing? Lavender Brown. Really?"

He only shrugged and turned, if it was possible, redder. He cleared his throat to say something, but Rose would never learn what, for at that moment, a silvery wolf bounded into the room. It skidded to a halt and only just avoiding colliding with Rose before it opened its mouth and spoke with Tonks' voice, which sounded slightly congested.

"Rose. I've got Indian takeout, six crackers, and two bottles of wine at your flat, if you wanted to come round."

Rose smiled. "Tell her I'll be there in fifteen minutes," she told the wolf, before it turned and sprang away. "At least I can give her her gift," she said to herself, then stood and walked to the door, ruffling Harry's hair as she went. "Well. Happy Christmas, all!"

1 "Gaudy, isn't it?"

2 "It's… very festive."

3 "Why not let your mother-in-law enjoy her music? Let us go into go into the kitchen and add spices to the wine."

4 "Don't take any shit."


	36. Third Flower Chapter 37

**Chapter 37: Storm**

 **A.N. This chapter, as it states, begins on March 14th, 1997. It continues to March 16th, a Sunday, continues through the following week and ends on the morning after the full moon, the 25th of March, a Tuesday, during the Easter Holidays.**

 **This one's a heavy one, and is dedicated to my very dear A. on her birthday. She, like Rose, has survived what she did not know she could survive this year, and has learned more about herself than she probably wanted to know. I would like to light a candle in her room, bring her some chocolate, and cast out every Dementor who dares approach. A toast, to hope in the dark. xoxo**

In some ways, the fourteenth of March was a very ordinary day. The drama of early March, which had seen both Ron and Harry in the hospital wing (Ron for poisoning and Harry for falling from his broom after being struck by a bludger) had faded. Both boys were out of the hospital wing now, and were again consuming meals and Rose's chocolate biscuits to a degree that was very much to Rose's satisfaction.

March fourteenth was a Friday. Rose had given a test that day on the state of current international Wizarding alliances. Harry had come to tea the night before; Rose felt certain there were a few things about his lessons with Dumbledore that he was not sharing with her. She had spent a good deal of that rainy afternoon thinking about it. Shepherd's Pie had been served for dinner in the Great Hall that evening. No, nothing dramatic had happened that day, nor did the day seem particularly portentous to Rose until the moment she rolled up her sleeves in Severus Snape's office that evening to complete the final steps of her Wolfsbane Potion for that month.

When Snape had uncovered their cauldrons, for the first time, Rose had not been immediately sure which cauldron was her own. That was the first astonishing thing. The second was that, when she went as usual to break up the clumps of silver in her potion, she could find none to attack with the brass stirring spoon in her hand. When the time came to add the aconite, then, and Rose's potion produced a compact puff of purple smoke in almost perfect tandem with Snape's, Rose knew that this day was, in fact, a remarkable one.

Not long after the purple smoke had dissipated, Severus moved to his small supply cupboard for the skullcap leaf and Rose felt a prickle of anticipation as she had not felt before. He dropped the leaf into his own cauldron; as usual, it merely floated, unscathed, on the surface of his slowly boiling potion. But when he dropped the leaf into Rose's cauldron and it, too, appeared completely untouched, they both stood in silence and simply watched its progress around Rose's perfectly even, viscous potion.

After a minute of this had passed, Snape spoke. "I will brew this with you again next month. After that, you will be able to continue on your own." He then began to tidy up as he usually did, with Rose still staring in shock and triumph at her cauldron. "It is for the best that you continue on your own," he went on, replacing the aconite, the stirring spoons, and the jar of skullcap leaves in the cupboard. "I may not be in a position to brew it next year. I shall be sure to ask Dumbledore to keep you supplied with ingredients," he added, as he locked the cupboard with his wand.

Rose had finally looked up from her cauldron and frowned at Severus. "Why won't you be in a position to brew Wolfsbane next year?"

"I don't know for certain. I said I _might not_." Snape's face was impassive.

"All right then. What is the reason that you _might not_ be able to brew at Hogwarts next year? Are you buying into rumors and superstitions now?" When he frowned, clearly perplexed, she clarified, "Are you saying this because you believe the Defense job to be cursed? It has been said-"

"The students believe such things," Snape dismissed. "If I believed it to be more than a mere tabloid rumor, do you think I would have accepted the position?"

"Well. You might, at that," Rose said thoughtfully, staring at him with her arms folded.

"Why do you say that?"

"You've just told me that you may not be here next year. Whatever reason you have for surmising that, might have provided you with a reason to accept a job you believed was cursed. You knew you would not occupy the position long." Rose had no idea how near she might be to the truth. But she had learned through experience that Severus would sometimes be willing to say things when provoked that he would not even intimate in cold blood.

Snape made a derisive noise and turned to face her. "You need not look hard for a reason for my words. Given the state of things outside the school, neither you nor anyone in the Order could expect me to remain in a position at Hogwarts, under Albus Dumbledore, indefinitely. The Dark Lord is in his ascendancy. He gains power and followers by the week, and the Ministry has been unable even to check his rise. You know the work that I do."

It was not a question, but nevertheless, Rose answered. "I do. But thus far, you have done it while maintaining your position under Dumbledore. What is likely to change in the next months? Surely you don't think Voldemort will make defeat of one such as Dumbledore-?"

Snape's nostrils flared at her use of Voldemort's name. "I do not venture to speculate into such things. The Dark Lord remains wary of Dumbldore, it is true. But there may be a time when he will no longer countenance any apparent disloyalty. I may need to prove my allegiance by abandoning my position here."

"You mean you may need to go underground," Rose interpreted. He nodded. "But why should the Dark Lord no longer see value in retaining a spy? Surely that is what he believes he has in you."

"He does, yes," Snape agreed. "But." He stepped, and Rose had the feeling he was checking his words before they spilled out from his lips. "The state of things is highly volatile. And Dumbledore… well. He is an old man."

"Is he ill?" Rose asked sharply. "What do you know, Severus?"

He only looked at her, then motioned to the two cauldrons. "This month, it will not matter which cauldron you take from. Either will be effective, and neither will harm the taker." Severus' expression softened very slightly as he held her gaze. "Wolfsbane is a formidable potion to brew. Permit me to say that your sister, that- Lily, would be proud."

Rose found she was no longer willing to push him for information. "Thank you, Severus," she said, with the greatest degree of sincerity she had shown him in many months. "I shall come by for a flask of it in the morning."

He nodded. Rose strode over to him and reached out her hand, and after a moment, he shook it. Then, without any further words passing between them, Rose returned to her office. It had really been a most extraordinary evening.

* * *

Sunday morning found Rose pacing by the sheep-gate, blowing on her hands for warmth and fighting a growing unease. Remus was never late. She was never sure if it was just not in his nature to be late, or if he had so little to do at the werewolf camp that he could leave it without difficulty, at any time. But the fact remained that, since she had begun to brew Wolfsbane potion for him, they would have only to agree upon a time, and he would be there. Now, glancing at her wristwatch, she reminded herself that he was only ten minutes behind his time. They had corresponded as usual and agreed upon eight-thirty; it was now twenty minutes until nine. Nonetheless, Rose could not dismiss the fear that all was not well with him.

At ten minutes before nine, Rose felt fairly frantic. Just as she was pulling out her wand, with some half-formed idea of attempting to cast a Patronus for the first time to use as a messenger, a silvery wolf came dashing at her through the air. "Tonks?" she wondered aloud, but then the wolf's mouth opened and it spoke in Remus' voice.

"Rosey, I am coming. There has been a development; I will fill you in when I arrive. It shouldn't be long. Cast a warming charm on the potion, and on yourself." And before she could speak, it bounded away.

In relief, Rose used her drawn wand to conjure a chair and sank into it. Then, she did as he had suggested and cast warming charms on the potion and on her own hands. As she waited, warmer now and a little easier in her mind, she began to berate herself again for not being able to cast a Patronus. _There is really no excuse for it. I am a grown woman, I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix, this is simply something I must do._ Each time she had thought about the wispy, vaguely bird-like Patronus she had produced that April evening with Sirius, it had only served to remind her of her grief. It was still unimaginable that she would ever again make a memory so happy as those which had been ravaged by his death. But now, under a sky that was blue with the promise of an early spring, Rose was impatient to be doing more.

A POP of Apparition took her sharply from her reverie. Remus stood a few feet away, looking strained and out of breath. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

"Never mind that, Remus! Is everything all right? What's happened?" She strode over and closed the distance between them as if this would hasten the message in getting to her.

"I am all right," he assured her, though his expression was grave. "Why don't we sit, and I'll drink the potion while it's warm. Then, we can talk."

Remus used his wand to magically enlarge Rose's Conjured chair, and they sat while he drank the bubbling potion. Rose waited until he had finished it, grimacing, and taken the peppermint she offered him before saying, "You're drinking from my cauldron this time, Mooney. I've done it properly at last." Glancing at him, she added, worriedly, "You didn't notice anything different about it, did you?"

"Not at all, not at all, just as repugnant as ever," he replied, and took a swig of water from his metal cup. "But this is wonderful! You've really mastered Wolfsbane Potion? Rosey, many qualified potioneers can't make Wolfsbane; it's supposed to be one of the most difficult recipes to follow. How extraordinary!"

"I had a good teacher," Rose admitted. "Severus was not, perhaps, encouraging. Or very charismatic. But without his help, I'm afraid the recipe as written would have been too fraught for me to correctly follow. And, you have his assurance that the potion I brewed is safe. The skullcap leaf was completely unscathed."

"I never doubted you," he responded, smiling. "You're Lily's sister, after all."

"I hadn't thought I had her potions ability, really. I was nothing extraordinary when I was at school."

He shook his head. "I meant that you clearly have her stubbornness in the face of a challenge. She'd be proud, Rose."

"I'd like to think so," she said, softly. She decided not to tell him that Severus had said the same thing, but to get to the point. "Now. I think you must tell me what it was that delayed you. You looked so grim when you arrived."

"Yes. I have intelligence, news. The Order needs to know. I've sent a Patronus to Dumbledore; don't be surprised if you're summoned to a meeting very soon. The Death Eaters, Greyback says, are offended with the Montgomery family. Mr. Montgomery is dead. He was killed by the Death Eaters last week. He knew something that he wasn't telling. I don't know what; I don't know Greyback knows either. They don't actually keep Greyback in their inner circle, the Death Eaters. They're using him, pure and simple, the same way they'll use trolls and giants and Dementors," he said, scowling his disgust at the ground and taking a moment to breathe. Then he looked up and resumed. "The Death Eaters apparently called on Mrs. Montgomery last night, trying to get her to tell what her husband knew, what he died rather than tell. She also refused. But they didn't kill her yet; they've only threatened her. She has one week, or Greyback will take one of her children."

"But I know those children!" Rose said, horror covering her. "Adella… Lina… and Phillip, he's two years under Harry. I teach Lina. Greyback is going to try to take them from Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," Remus replied, running his hands through his greying hair and looking nauseous. "I don't know that there aren't any children still at home, under school age. I just know he's threatened her children, and she has a week to tell them before..."

"Before the full moon," Rose supplied. She felt sure the same nausea was on her face as well. It was certainly in her stomach. " _Mon Dieu_. So the Order will need to establish a presence at the Montgomery residence. Someone will have to call on them."

"Yes, yes, the sooner the better. And the students, the three Montgomerys at Hogwarts, shouldn't leave the Castle. I don't believe the Death Eaters could enter the Castle while Dumbledore is there. But they should take all possible precautions." He gave a strained smile. "Rather like Harry the year I was teaching. Only, the threat, this time, is very real."

"Do they plan to kill the child they abduct? Or..."

"It's hard to say," he replied grimly. "But it will be public. A spectacle. I don't think I could watch it, if it comes to that. It will destroy my cover, because I would interfere. I do not know if I would be able to prevent the attack, but it would effectively mean the end of my mission. Perhaps my life."

Rose nodded. "I understand you. I will tell the Order what you have said. We'll protect them, Remy."

"Good. You will have to fill in the details at the meeting; I was not able to convey so much with my Patronus to Dumbledore." He withdrew his pocket watch, nodded, and stood up. "I should go. It was hard enough to get away to send a Patronus, let alone come here."

"Will you be able to take your potion? It seems it will be more necessary than usual, this month."

"Yes, yes. I must. But I may be late. Let's plan on the late afternoon, if you can make it. If I am delayed I will send a Patronus, if I can." He smiled briefly. "Anyway, I would not want to waste your first successful brew!"

They said their goodbyes, Rose hugging his neck fervently. "Be safe."

"I'll try. You watch yourself too, Rose. The Order haven't seen this much fighting in months."

At half past nine, he was gone, and Rose was striding determinedly toward Professor Dumbledore's office.

* * *

"As we have seen, this mission calls for great delicacy. We can send Order members skilled in Defense to protect the Montgomery home, but we will require Mrs. Montgomery's permission, and indeed, her cooperation and help if we are to protect her family effectively. Her permission should be sought before we attempt to place protective charms or post guards, if for no other reason than because we do not want to put her on the defensive, if wizards or witches she does not know appear suddenly at her door."

Dumbledore paused to adjust his glasses, then sat forward and clasped his hands together. "In addition, however, I have spoken with the Montgomery children who are here at Hogwarts. It appears there is another, fourth, Montgomery child, a young boy. Alexander Montgomery is but five years old. It is for his safety that I am most gravely concerned." Rose and Tonks looked at each other briefly, then returned their attention to the Headmaster.

"What I am looking for, to begin with, is someone who can function as a sort of diplomat to Mrs. Montgomery, to learn as much as possible about the nature of the Death Eaters' threat and of what she wishes to do with her son. A team can accompany this person and set to the protective enchantments straight away, with Mrs. Montgomery's permission. The question is, who will knock on the door and speak to Mrs. Montgomery?"

There was a moment of stillness, during which everyone around the table looked at each other. Rose quickly scanned the faces of the people who had responded to the summons that day. Tonks was on one side of her, Kingsley Shacklebolt to the other. Mad-Eye sat across from her, scowling. Hestia Jones was beside him, her arms firmly crossed, and Elphias Doge was to Dumbledore's left. Rose's eyes darted quickly to the empty seats, looking first at that seat which Emmeline Vance used to occupy, before her murder that past summer. Arthur and Bill were still at work.

Tentatively, Rose raised her hand and began to say, "I think I can do that," at the same moment that Kingsley intoned, "I will." They looked at one another, and just as Rose was about to defer to Kingsley's superior experience, Dumbledore spoke.

"Just the two I was going to suggest," he said, nodding approvingly. "Both of you, Kingsley, Miss Evans, are natural choices for diplomatic work. Very well, we can waste no time. I recommend departing as soon as you have eaten, and have conveyed our hearty thanks to Molly for supplying these excellent sandwiches."

Mrs. Montgomery's sitting room was very tidy, and Rose could tell it was normally a cheerful, attractive place. There were velvet armchairs, a plush carpet, and a generously large fireplace. Nevertheless, the room seemed a furtive, fearful place, perhaps due to the cold emptiness of the fireplace, or the darkness due to every heavy drape blocking light from every window. Or perhaps, the mood came from Mrs. Montgomery herself. She was a tall, determined-looking woman, dark-haired and taciturn, and though she had welcomed them into her home with every politeness, she spoke no more than was strictly necessary to answer Rose and Kingsley's questions.

In the corner, like a lost artifact from another civilization, Mrs. Montgomery's five-year-old son, Alexander, played by himself. A wizened house elf sat near him, smiling indulgently as the boy arranged his gem-colored Gobstone collection into the tallest pile he could manage. His hair was the color of sand.

"We appreciate your hospitality, Mrs. Montgomery," Kingsley was saying. "These are unsociable times. And I shall tell the other members of the Order that we have your permission to set wards and guards on the house. Thank you for consenting to this. But you must understand, it would be far better for you, and for your son, if you both quit this house and went into hiding."

"We believe Alexander would be far safer if you did leave this place, Mrs. Montgomery," Rose chimed in. She had been watching the boy covertly, her mind wandering to Harry, growing up at Privet Drive, and wondering if Harry would have looked like this boy while she was away studying _Enchantements_ and _Défense Contre la Magie Noire._

"I appreciate your circumspection, and Albus Dumbledore's concern," Mrs. Montgomery responded, lifting her head. "But to leave this place would be to give them what they want, to drive a family from their home out of fear. It is what my father did, what he had to do, but it is something I never mean to do while I can fight."

"Your father fled the Death Eaters, Ma'am?" Rose inquired, frowning.

"My father was a Muggle, Miss…" Mrs. Montgomery paused, then looked at Rose apologetically.

"Evans, Ma'am," Rose supplied.

"Miss Evans. My father was a Muggle, and he was a Jew. As a very young man, he heeded the advice of his friends in Germany and fled to England Are you one of those Wizards who knows nothing of the Muggle wars, Miss Evans? Do I have to tell you what became of the rest of his family, who remained in Germany?"

Rose's eyes had widened, and she simply shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I can surmise what must have been."

"Very well. And I do not blame my father for fleeing, of course. If he had not, I would not sit before you. But my father, as I have said, was a Muggle, with no means of resisting the Nazi wave which was overtaking his country. I, however, am a witch, and I see the wave overtaking Wizarding Britain now, and I have the power to resist them. _I know Nazis when I see them._ And I tell you, I will not flee before these, now." Mrs. Montgomery sat up straighter in her chair so that she almost resembled a very straight-trunked tree, just as stalwart and immovable.

Kingsley and Rose looked at each other, and it seemed to pass between them without words that they could make no successful effort to convince Mrs. Montgomery to leave her home. Rose looked back at Mrs. Montgomery and nodded that she understood her resolution. "In that case, Mrs. Montgomery, can I prevail upon you to at least send your child into hiding? We've been given permission to receive him at Hogwarts, if that would be to your liking. His older brother and sisters would be there, and he would be under the protection of Albus Dumbledore."

Mrs. Montgomery's eyes flicked to where Alexander sat, now placidly separating his Gobstones into piles by color. "No, I think not," she replied, a little more cooly than before. "I am not convinced, you see, that he would be any safer in Scotland, among hundreds of young people, in a massive castle which my husband used to tell me is riddled with secret tunnels, passageways, and other mysteries. I fear for my older children much more than for Alexander, to tell the truth. No, here Alexander has Priggy," she nodded to the ancient house elf, "and he has me, and we do not let him leave the house except to play in the courtyard, where we accompany him at all times. If Dumbledore's Order is setting up the wards you describe, he is safer here than he could ever be outside my sight. I am very near to sending for Phillip, Lina, and Adella to join him."

"We would advise strenuously against that, Ma'am," Kingsley put in. "The protection the Order of the Phoenix can provide to a private residence is, unfortunately, not as powerful as the protections in place at Hogwarts. The castle is protected by ancient magical wards and spells, by patrolling Ministry Aurors, and by Albus Dumbledore himself."

"I am sure you have heard that Albus Dumbledore is the only wizard Lord Voldemort is rumored to fear?" Rose put in, and was surprised and gratified that Mrs. Montgomery did not flinch at the name.

She merely raised an eyebrow as she replied, "And yet, much can happen in a school with so many students attending. I can recall that a few years ago, Hogwarts students were being mysteriously Petrified regularly, and that last year, and student actually died while competing in a school-sponsored tournament. Nonetheless," she said, holding up a hand against Rose, who was about to protest that the death had occurred away from the school's grounds, "Albus Dumbledore has my respect, or I would not have consented to your presence here today. My older children will remain at school, though they are under orders not to leave the school for any reason, not even to take their Apparition tests."

"That is perfectly reasonable," Kingsley said, nodding. "Well, please do let us know if you change your mind; we would be more than willing to help your family find a safe hiding place, or to have Alexander removed to Hogwarts if that is your wish."

"It is my wish that we remain. They will never force me from my home while I live to fight, Mr. Shacklebolt." Mrs. Montgomery's expression, though gracious, was set. Rose and Kingsley soon took their leave of her, though not before Rose had shaken the solemn little boy's hand in parting.

"Thank you for coming to see me," he said, so gravely that Rose had to stifle a smile as she replied, "It has been a pleasure, Master Montgomery. Thank _you_ for your kind hospitality!"

Outside, Hestia Jones and Mad-Eye, who had long finished the spells for the protective wards, were standing just inside the wards' boundary line. Moody was smoking a pipe; Hestia, a cigarette.

"Well?" Moody asked, dispensing with greetings or other pleasantries. "What did she say? Are we moving them?"

Rose shook her head; Kinsley answered, "She does not wish to signal fear to the Death Eaters. She insists upon staying, and that her child will be safer here." He sighed, but Moody merely nodded briskly.

"Very good," he said. "The wards are set. The guard is posted. I'll cover tonight; Evans, you're able to stay with Hestia until evening?"

"Certainly," Rose affirmed, and smiled at Hestia, who smiled wanly back.

"I brought sandwiches." Hestia held up a foil-wrapped package.

* * *

The next week, the third week of March, and the last week before Easter, passed slowly. Rose caught a remarkably persistent cold, which required two doses of Madam Pomphrey's Pepper-Up potion to subdue. All the talk among the students was the upcoming Apparition lessons to be held at Hogsmeade the following weekend. Harry appeared in good spirits; indeed, Rose could not remember seeing him look so unencumbered by worry in the years she had known him. She supposed it was the first year since she'd returned to England in which he had no extraordinary trials, no Triwizard Tournament, no Dolores Umbridge or Ministry persecution to cope with. His friends appeared to have mended their months-long quarrel over Lavender Brown. She did not know the details, but Rose suspected that Ron's brush with death on his birthday several weeks before had done the job. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were once again to be seen traveling the castle together, thick in conversation, Ron making pointed efforts to avoid Lavender Brown, now.

Rose met Remus every evening, as usual. He looked rather more careworn even than usual these days, but seemed to be in good health. "I have been listening to campfire talk," he reported on his fourth day of taking Rose's potion, "and I am not the only one who feels horrified by Greyback's plans for the Montgomery child. There have always been mutterings about his connection with the Death Eaters. Many have long doubted that Voldemort will truly prove to be a friend to werewolves. But some are saying now that even if the Death Eaters keep their end of the bargain, there is no dignity in being used as hit-men and women for their political enemies. It is not quite the moral outcry I could wish," he sighed, "but it is dissent."

Here and there, in the evenings, Rose would take a shift guarding the Montgomery House. It was not such unpleasant work. The weather was warming, now, in the second half of March, and there was usually another member of the Order stationed with her. Rose enjoyed more than one shift in Kinsley's company. He was a fascinating person, she reflected after one evening spent passing tea from a thermos back and forth with the imposing-looking Auror. He spoke slowly, seeming to consider every word, and listened a great deal. Rose found herself confiding in him a great deal more than she'd initially intended.

"I don't regret returning from France," Rose told him that Thursday evening, as they sat on a bench on the edge of the Montgomery property. "Far from it. It has been the best decision of my life, and long overdue. But it has not been easy. Very few of my family are living, and all of my closest friends from school are abroad. I found a welcome in James' friends, though. In Remus, in Sirius, and in Sirius' cousin, Tonks, I found a little makeshift family. They loomed large in my world when I was eleven, those Marauders."

"Sirius' loss was a great tragedy. But to you, perhaps, the greatest." He spoke sincerely, but carefully, looking at her with his placid, dark eyes.

"I did not know I could survive it. I suppose I have learned a great deal about myself since I've come back."

"I suppose we will all learn more about ourselves than we'd prefer to know during this war," Kingsley replied, and handed her the thermos full of tea.

The week continued placidly enough, until the weekend brought another crisis to the Order. When Bill and Tonks went to take their shift guarding the Montgomery house on Saturday morning, they found it empty, but for the house elf, Priggy.

"My mistress is returning soon, sirs," Priggy reportedly told Bill and Tonks ("I suppose she's never seen a witch with short hair and Doc Martens before," Tonks remarked when she told the story to Rose that evening). "She is bringing young master to another's home. She is telling no one where he is going, so as to keep him safe."

This turn of events caused the Order to abruptly shift strategies. Instead of guarding the house, Order members agreed to a schedule of check-ins, starting that afternoon, and continuing every few hours until the family's return. Dumbledore spread the word to all his friendly contacts, and even sent Fawkes out to look for them when the Montgomerys had not returned by Saturday night.

By Sunday morning, things were looking quite grim. Lupin had come on Saturday morning to take his potion, but he had stayed only long enough to down the potion, pocket the peppermint Rose always brought, and press Rose's hand in thanks before he Disapparated.

The Patronus Tonks sent on Saturday afternoon to report the Montgomery family's disappearance had returned without delivering its message. "Which either means," Tonks told Rose as they conferred quietly in Rose's office at half nine Sunday morning, "he's unable to get away from the others to receive its message, or he's-" she did not finish the sentence, but just looked at Rose with thin, whitened lips.

"He's fine, I'm sure he's fine," Rose assured her, though her stomach was in knots. "He was fine yesterday. He's canny, Mooney is, extremely clever. He's a Marauder, after all!" Rose wished the last sentence unsaid as soon as she had said it. Being a Marauder was, after all, demonstrably no protection from being murdered by Death Eaters. _It did not save James, or Sirius, in the end,_ she thought to herself, her hands clammy with a stroke of superstitious fear.

Tonks had been doing overnight check-ins on the Montgomery house, and had been stationed at Hogsmeade for a time in the early morning as the students were arriving for their Apparition lessons, so she looked her exhaustion as they sat, sipping their cocoa. "Why don't you take a nap?" Rose suggested. "You don't have to work today, do you? Do you have any more duty in Hogsmeade?"

"They have bigger guns than me supervising the Apparition lessons," Tonks said, dismissively. "No, I'm off today, but I couldn't sleep. Not until I've heard... No, I think I'll go and see Dumbledore. Give him my report, and see if he's heard from- If he's heard anything, that is."

"You might see Harry," Rose told her as she stood to go. "He's not of age, so he won't have gone to Hogsmeade. I expect he'll be doing some more sleuthing after that Malfoy boy," she added, rolling her eyes.

Tonks and Rose exchanged a long hug, and then Tonks departed for Dumbledore's office.

It was with a growing sense of dread that Rose went to Hogsmeade that evening, clutching the final dose of the Wolfsbane. She could hardly believe that Remus would appear, as they had agreed, at five o'clock, but at just a minute past the hour Rose was spared from her anxiety by the CRACK of his arrival behind her.

"Oh, thank Merlin," she burst out, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck.

He was slightly out of breath, but he hugged her back fervently. "I can't stay. I saw Tonks' Patronus, but I couldn't get by myself to hear it. Things are very tense in the Camp."

"I imagine so," Rose said, removing the potion from her bag. "Do you know where the Montgomerys are?"

"I don't for sure, but I suspect Greyback knows. All that talk is that there will be some demonstration on Monday night. Greyback and his cronies are watching and listening everywhere; there's suspicion of anything that sounds like dissent." He took the Wolfsbane thermos from her and began to drink in haste. "If it wasn't essential that I keep my mind this month," he said, when he had finished and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, "I wouldn't have chanced coming. As it is," he took the peppermint and popped it into his mouth, " _Thank you._ "

"Of course," Rose answered, patting his elbow. He shook her hand, and then made to walk away, but she spoke again. "I really think you should send a Patronus to Tonks. Right now. She's frantic, Remus."

He looked over his shoulder as though he expected to see Greyback closing in on him right there outside Hogsmeade. "Yes, yes," he said, running his hands through his hair distractedly. And then- "Quite right." He took out his wand, closed his eyes, and in a moment the silvery wolf was before him. Kneeling down, he whispered in the creature's ear, and then it dashed away.

"I've got to go," he told Rose. "I can't be counted missing."

" _Please_ be careful," she replied, wringing her hands helplessly.

He only nodded, and was gone.

On Monday morning, Mrs. Montgomery's body was found in a field outside her horrified brother-in-law's house in Mold-on-the-Wold. It appeared that she had indeed been attempting to bring Alexander there, but had not told her brother-in-law, or anyone else, to expect her, thinking perhaps that the secrecy would keep them safe. No one could be sure of exactly what had happened, but the word among the Order was that her body, having been examined by medi-wizards at St. Mungo's, bore signs of no curse but the Avada Kedavra. The body, or indeed any traces of Alexander Montgomery were nowhere to be found.

All this Rose only learned from a short conference with Minerva McGonagall over breakfast; there had been no time to call an Order meeting. She taught her classes that day in a state of what she thought must be obvious distraction. After dinner, she joined Tonks for a perfunctory patrol of Hogsmeade Village.

"I'm only here for a formality, really," Tonks told her as they strode through the village in the fading evening light. "Nobody really thinks anything's going to happen in Scotland tonight. Well, nobody except the Ministry. Wherever they have the kid, it's not going to be anywhere near where Albus Dumbledore lives."

"I assume we're going to have a presence in Yorkshire tonight-?" Rose asked.

"Yes, it's going to be me, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Bill, and Hestia there tonight. Arthur's supposed to watch Mold-on-the-Wold, and Dedelus and Dung are going to the Montgomery house. We think whatever it is will happen at the camp, from what Remus told you. I wish I hadn't had to be in London last night," she added, real fervor in her voice as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.

"Did you get his Patronus?"

"Yeah, I faked an urgent need for the loo to hear it. He said-" she dropped her voice, and as they were quite alone, Rose thought this was more out of emotion than any fear of being overheard, "He said he was sorry to worry me, and he was working hard to save the boy. He said he was thinking of me, and if things went badly, he hoped I'd be safe."

"How many ways there are to say 'I love you,' without saying the words," Rose mused, threading her arm through Tonks'.

Rose and Minerva McGonagall had been asked to stay at Hogwarts for the sake of the Montgomery children who were students there. The Easter holidays meant that there had been no classes that day. Many students were at home, though an almost equal number had chosen to stay. The Montgomery children, though, had been allowed to split their time between Dumbledore and McGonagall's offices, where they had first learned of their mother's death and their brother's continued disappearance.

"Ordinarily, they would have been sent home to grieve. But times of war are not ordinary times," Minerva had told Rose in a weary voice, briefing her over breakfast. "Given the state of things," she had continued, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, "Hogwarts is by far the safest place for them. They know that a rescue is being attempted for their brother. We would do best to let them cope together."

* * *

It was another day of distraction and anxiety. As the day drew to a close and Rose sat in the Great Hall attempting to eat dinner, she found her gaze inexplicably going to Harry, where he sat with his knot of Gryffindor friends. There was no reason to be nervous after Harry, she thought. He was not under threat. He would be sleeping safe in Gryffindor tower tonight, while in Yorkshire, or in Mold-on-the-Wold, or on the grounds of the Montgomery house, who knew what violence might be carried out. But during this war, for it could be called nothing else now, times of fear had often found her reassuring herself by looking after Harry. If he was well (and he looked well, shoveling Shepherd's Pie into his mouth and listening to Seamus Finnigan hold forth), then somehow she felt there was a ground to stand upon.

She slept very poorly that night. Even after corridor duty was complete, even once she was comfortably in her bed, Rose sat, the fire high, her lamp burning, gazing out of the window. The night was cloudy and the moon, the cause of so much fear and trouble that night, was not visible. For a time, she had her wand out and made a few attempts at a Patronus charm. She thought of seeing Beauxbatons for the first time. She thought of the house at Godric's Hollow, and of Lily's laughter and the Marauders' teasing. She thought of winning the dueling championship at school, and of Astou's hug at the end of it. These thoughts warmed her, and again she produced a silvery vapor which hovered for a few moments before disappearing. But of the winged shape she saw nothing. She even tried, bracing her mind rather in anticipation, to think of Sirius. Sirius' barking laughter, his sharp eyes catching hers from across a room, his warm body next to hers. Her heart did swell with a sort of happiness, but it was blended with longing and a stinging grief. She did not attempt a Patronus from that memory, but merely sat and longed for his company until she began to feel something like weariness and could extinguish the candle and the fire and lie down.

Rose awoke before dawn and dressed herself, tense and waiting for she knew not what news. Somewhere, she knew, the wolves would be preparing to transform; whatever had been their business the night before, it must have been accomplished by now. She ate a couple of biscuits in her chair and sipped cocoa, but her foot tapped at a feverish pace.

A little after seven, she was just thinking of stepping outside for some fresh air, and to relieve her restlessness, when she jumped at the sudden appearance of a silvery wolf. There was the usual suspense when it opened its mouth as to whether Tonks' voice or Remus' would be heard.

"Rose. Meet us at the sheep-gate. I've got my medical kit but if you could bring a blanket and some firewhiskey it'd help."

Tonks' voice. It sounded raw and exhausted. Rose spared only the time necessary to gather the requested items, tuck her wand into her sleeve and throw her warm wool cloak over her shoulders (March in Scotland was not reliably spring-like, as she had learned) before she fairly ran out into the morning.

She could see them plainly from the edge of town, two figures on the grass, one clearly lying with its head in the other's lap. She spared a moment to hope that none of the citizens of Hogsmeade were early walkers before she sped up her approach.

Tonks was busily applying salve to a darkening bruise over Remus' eye. She looked pale, dirty, and as if she had not slept all night. Remus looked far worse; his injuries could only be partly seen through his torn and bloodstained robe, but shivered on the grass and looked tense with pain. Tonks gave no greeting as Rose entered her sight but merely exhaled gratefully and asked, "How are you with healing spells?"

"I can do simple ones reliably," she replied. "I'm no healer. Should we get him to St. Mungo's?"

"I don't think we'll have to, if we work quick. The less they know or guess about what happened last night, the better. They'll already be suspicious. Alexander Montgomery is there."

Rose knew better than to demand an account of the night's events prematurely, so rather than saying anything, she merely poured out two small tin mugs of firewhiskey, one for Tonks, and one for Remus.

She spared a glance at them as she sorted through the medical kit for the bandages and ointment she expected to need. Tonks had lifted Remus' head into the crook of her elbow and was helping him to drink the Ogden's with a look of uncharacteristic tenderness on her heart-shaped face. His eyes met hers blearily as he struggled not to cough against the strong spirit. They exchanged a look of deep understanding and trust, which made everything Remus had ever said about the two of them being unsuitable together seem laughable in an instant.

Rose set to work, cleaning and closing the wounds on Remus' arms and chest, while Tonks, finished with his face, set herself to the bleeding gashes on his legs. The wounds were many and varied in severity, but the majority were clearly bites and scratches left by his fellow werewolves. In time, his pain began to ease, and he looked clear-eyed when Tonks finally nodded with satisfaction and said, "I think that's all we can do. The rest will have to heal in time."

"I'm much better. Both of you, thank you." He nodded at Rose, but returned his eyes to Tonks almost immediately. The three of them sat on the grass a moment then, Tonks and Remus sipping their firewhiskey in shared exhaustion and Rose merely trying not to look too impatient. Finally, she could no longer stand it.

"I'm going to need the story, as soon as one of you can provide it," she told them, trying to smile.

Remus sighed, and closed his eyes. He looked so pained that Rose wondered if they had missed a wound somewhere, but then he opened his eyes and said, "It's not a good story." There was a moment when Rose thought she had better apply to Tonks, and perhaps later, but then he said, "But you deserve to hear it"

He sat up, put his hands on his knees, and began.

"Greyback Apparated just before sundown. I had positioned myself in the middle of the pack, so that I was able to get to him quickly after he appeared. He was… holding so tightly to Alexander that it was a wonder the boy could breathe. Greyback was delirious, half sick with the beginning of the transformation, and half exhilarated with his victory. He started shouting to the pack that tonight was the beginning, that we would introduce this cub into the pack, and thus seal our allegiance to Voldemort and the Death Eater movement. He tried the spout the same rubbish he usually does, about how the Death Eaters will bring us into a new era where werewolves don't have to hide, don't have to fear wizards, but can live out our power, and grow as a pack. But he could only get a few sentences out. It was beginning, all of us were feeling it, I less than the others, of course, thanks to you, Rose," he nodded at her.

"Go on," was all she said in reply.

"Well, I stood up then. I wasn't going to lose my mind, but I had lost my caution. It felt like a do-or-die situation, I suppose. It's like being a little bit drunk. Anyway, I shouted to anyone who would hear that this was the moment, Greyback was right, but it was not the moment to prove ourselves to be the beasts that everyone feared. I told them it was time to decide what kind of creatures we wanted to be. I told them violence against a child was not the way to grow our pack. And I set myself between them and the boy. It was foolish," he admitted, running his hand through his greying hair.

"It was brilliant," Tonks insisted, her cheeks flushed with pride.

He smiled wanly and continued. "We began to fight as men, and continued as wolves. Once the transformation had begun I knew the child was probably doomed, but I kept trying to circle him and fight them off. He was bitten . . . I can't count how many times. By how many wolves. The only non-wolf in a sea of wolves, how could it be otherwise. It was . . . ghastly."

"He was only five years old," Rose said, through tears.

" _I_ was only five years old," Remus told her, meeting her eyes with his own, which were also full of tears. "He cried, as I cried, and he begged as I did."

"Oh, Remus." Her voice was choked now, and she didn't attempt to speak further. Instead, Rose moved to sit closer to them both. She felt that the three of them were caught up in a mighty prevailing current, and that they must cling to one another to avoid being cast over the edge of a cataract.

"Here I must give some of the story to Tonks, because in the chaos, I was separated from Alexander. The others were attacking him, and because I was attempting to protect him, they were attacking me, and I was trampled and surrounded until I hardly knew which way was up. At one point, those surrounding me all lifted their heads and howled, and then charged away."

"That was because of Hestia," Tonks put in. "Our plan was to distract the pack, draw them off, so that one of us could get to the boy. Hestia showed herself, wand drawn, and made an unholy racket to get as much attention as possible. When a group of wolves broke away and ran at her, the others started firing stunners. They gave me as much time as they could. I dashed out, grabbed the boy, and Disapparated for St. Mungos. Mad-Eye caught up with me there, and said they'd all Disapparated safely, when they saw I was gone."

"When I was able to drag my useless body back to where he'd been, he was gone," said Lupin heavily. "I knew the Order would have a presence, and I hoped she had gotten to him in time. Then I dragged myself away from the pack and hid in a ditch, under some stones. I waited there until morning."

"And if I'd found you before they did, that would've been the end of it," Tonks exclaimed. "But just at dawn, when I knew the boy was being tended to in hospital, and I'd given my report, I came back to the Camp. I found him surrounded."

"I don't know what gave them the strength," Lupin said, gazing at the ground morosely. "They're normally like hung over party guests at that hour, the morning after a full moon. But Greyback and a couple of his cronies sought me out almost as soon as they could walk again, and started bellowing to everyone who'd listen that I was a traitor."

"They'd worked out from my behavior during the transformation that I had been taking Wolfsbane. They knew I had been defending the boy while in my wolf form, and they told everyone who would listen that I thought I was above them, that I was only pretending to be one of them and that I was a traitor. The tide was pretty well turned against me by the time I saw Tonks, for as many of us as there were who didn't like Greyback and opposed the kidnap of the boy, well… secretly taking Wolfsbane effectively lost me any credit I had been building up with them. They don't look well on anything they see as disloyalty to the pack, you know."

"Oh Remus. Your mission. All those months' work," Rose cried, her hand going to her mouth. "All ruined. Because I gave you Wolfsbane. I did this!"

"No, Rosey, no," he said firmly, reaching out and grasping at her upper arm. "Listen to me. Had you not given me the Wolfsbane I could not have bought the boy any time. I would have been among those attacking him! He would certainly be dead, and his remains would be on that moor right now. Instead, he is fighting for his life in St. Mungo's. You gave me an incredible gift, with benefits I could not have foreseen. I am eternally grateful to you."

" _Foutaise,_ Remy," she scoffed, but she was crying as she said it.

"Anyway. He is in St. Mungo's, and Remus is alive, and no one else is hurt. We did the best we could."

"Do you think he will live?" Rose asked, though fearing to hear the answer.

The two of them exchanged a dark look. "He... was pretty bad," Tonks said slowly. "Lost a lot of blood. The Healers didn't seem particularly hopeful."

"I could almost hope for him that he does not survive," said Remus, who had put his head into one of his hands as if it weighed three times as much as usual. "To have experienced what he did, and now to face a lifetime of lycanthropy… no one should have to…" he didn't finish, but his face convulsed.

"He knew at least one werewolf was willing to defend him, though," Tonks told him, laying a hand on Remus' head and smoothing his hair. "He'll know werewolves are human beings. He could turn out like you. There are worse things than that, you know," she told him, fondly.

When Remus only put his face in his hands, Tonks put her arms around him and drew his face to her shoulder. He only shook at first, then put his arms around her in a spasmodic movement. They clung to each other for a long time on the side of the hill near the sheep-gate.

As it was the Easter Holidays, there were far fewer students than usual in the Great Hall the next morning when the owls came soaring in with the newspapers. This was, perhaps, a good thing, for there were fewer eyes to see Rose hurrying out of the room, brushing away tears and still holding onto a copy of the paper which had announced the death in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries of _Alexander Montgomery, 5, survived by one brother and two sisters, both at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry._


	37. Third Flower Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Bolt

 **A.N. Slight divergence from canon: I put Snape in the DADA teacher's office on the second floor, while in the books, Snape elects to stay in the dungeons.**

 **Dates & Rationale: The first scene takes place on Friday, May 9th, 1997. Rose visits Dumbledore on Sunday, May 11th. It is Thursday, May 15th when Rose reads Secrets of the Darkest Art in her office. The battle on the seventh floor takes place in this story on Tuesday, June 10th. According to Jo, Harry and Dumbledore visit the cave on an evening prior to the start of O.W.L. testing, which begins in mid-June and lasts for two weeks. **

"So if I understand you, you used an unfamiliar, handwritten spell on Draco Malfoy, sliced open his skin, nearly killed him, and your only consequence is Saturday detentions until the end of term?" _Severus Snape really_ is _turning into something of a human being,_ thought Rose, as she watched Harry twist uncomfortably in his accustomed chair in her office.

"That's . . . the long and short of it, yes," he agreed.

"Well," she mused, trying to keep her face mild as she gazed at him. "All in all, I'd say you got off fairly easily."

He said nothing, but looked at the floor. Never had Rose felt so parental towards her nephew than now, as they sat in silence on that Friday at the beginning of May. She did not like the feeling. And yet, she could not find it in her to be sympathetic about Harry's having to miss a Quidditch match, even such an important one, when his rivalry and obsession with Draco Malfoy had brought him to such dire violence. She settled for a slight change in subject. "So you have no idea who this Half-Blood Prince could be?"

"Nope," he replied. "I mean, I thought about whether it could have been, you know, my Dad, or Lupin or Sirius. But Lupin said no. Hermione's pretty sure whoever it was, was a budding Death Eater. I thought she was overreacting before. But now . . . I dunno."

"I don't suppose you've asked Professor Dumbledore? I don't think very much escapes him about the students of this school."

Harry shook his head. "No, I- er, it hasn't really come up."

Rose looked at him keenly. "Or you would rather he didn't know about your highly useful textbook, isn't that closer to it?"

He looked up and shot her a brief, rueful smile that confirmed her guess, then looked back down.

"So if you haven't been discussing your mysterious textbook's author with Dumbledore, what have the two of you been at for all these months?" Rose asked him, a little bit tentatively.

He looked up at her again. "I… I can't tell you. Dumbledore said the fewer people who knew what he knew or suspected about Voldemort, the better."

Rose frowned. "You've been keeping it all entirely to yourself, then? How lonely for you."

"Well," he answered, looking, if it were possible, even more uncomfortable, "I've been telling Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore thought it'd be a good idea to tell them. But..."

"But he didn't say anything about me," Rose finished for him.

He nodded. "It's not that I don't trust you. Not at all. I just . . . I don't know if it's a good idea, I mean, I don't think it'd be safe for you to know. I want you to be safe. I've got a job to do, and I'm not planning on bringing anyone into it that doesn't have to know. It's better that way."

There was a brief silence while Rose considered this, and Harry just continued to look down. His face was set in an expression of conviction ( _stubbornness,_ Rose thought), but he also looked unhappy, and tense, while he waited for her response. _What I say right now matters to him,_ she realized. _If I object to being kept out of the secret, if I do anything to manipulate his feelings, it will only drive him further away._

She exhaled a breath she did not realize she was holding, and smiled at him. "I understand Harry. I want to help, obviously, I do. But if you feel it necessary to keep something secret, well, I trust your instincts."

He looked up, clearly a little surprised at her response. "I really do, you know, wish I could tell you," he said, his expression a little more open now.

"I know. As long as you realize I'm in your corner, no matter what. You do know that, don't you?" Rose felt as she looked at him that most of the love she had left for anyone in this world was flowing in an invisible channel toward this skinny teenaged boy with ungovernable hair and a spot on his chin.

"I know that," was all he said, but his answering look told her he understood what she was trying to say.

* * *

The moon would not be full for more than ten days, but Rose had already begun to fret over brewing her Wolfsbane potion for the month. It was, after all, her first month of brewing it on her own; Severus had only promised to help her for one more month when she had mastered the potion in March. Her potion in April had been flawless, yes, but she feared her nerves would interfere in the brewing of this first unsupervised batch.

Also, and more practically, she did not know where she would get the ingredients. The stores in Snape's personal closet had been quite low when they had finished the previous month. Rose knew that Horace Slughorn would have what she needed, and she did not doubt that he would agree to supply her what she needed. But in keeping with Harry's and Dumbledore's own discretion, Rose felt that the fewer people who knew that she was brewing Wolfsbane potion, the better. She decided after brief consideration to visit with Professor Dumbledore.

She could not be certain, of course, that he would be in his office, or even that he would be at the school. His whereabouts were increasingly uncertain of late. Still, she preferred inquiring of Dumbledore to paying another unsolicited visit to Severus' office; she felt herself in no mood for his cold sarcasm tonight.

There would still be another hour before curfew. Most students had retired to their common rooms by the time Rose made her way to the seventh floor that evening, with the exception of a few couples who could be seen lingering hand in hand in staircases, embracing each other behind tapestries, or snogging in window alcoves. Rose generally approved of such goings on as long as they were not brought to public extremes, so she ignored the whispering, giggling pairs she passed.

Still, when she passed an opened door behind which found the forms of Harry and Ginny Weasley engaged in an ardent bout of kissing, Rose found it difficult to remain impassive. Especially did she struggle to ignore them when Harry opened his eyes at the sound of her passing and, briefly, met her glance.

Rose had found it easy to brush off the awkwardness of catching him in the hallway with Cho the year before. But whether it was from the unexpected eye contact, or a result of the fervor with which he was kissing Ginny, she found herself flushing and quickening her pace so as to avoid an interaction she was sure they would both find deeply uncomfortable. She turned the corner without exchanging a word with either Harry or Ginny, though she felt their eyes on her back as she went.

But when she had at last reached the seventh floor, Rose broke into a grin. Harry and Ginny! It was too perfect; how had she not seen it coming? _She handles him expertly,_ Rose thought. _Oh, I do hope this one lasts._

She was still smiling when she knocked on the door to Dumbledore's office, though she composed her face quickly when she heard his answering, "Come in."

He looked worn out, Rose observed as she entered. Very rarely had Dumbledore ever really looked his true age, but there was something careworn and troubled in his expression, something that spoke of sleepless nights born of physical pain or an anxious mind, and it made her heart go out to him.

Nevertheless, he rose to his feet at her entrance, smiling graciously as he said, "Ah, Miss Evans. It is always a delight to see you. How do you do this lovely evening? I trust you are feeling warmer these days?"

Rose smiled at this reference to her well-known dislike of the cold Scottish winter. "I am infinitely more comfortable since May has taken hold, thank you, Headmaster. On warm evenings such as this, I can almost fancy myself back in France." She reached his desk and, at his gesture, dropped into one of the chairs which faced his desk. "I shall not intrude upon you long, Sir." she promised. "I am sure you have many more pressing things to consider than what I have to ask."

"I hope I always have time to hear about the matters that trouble my valued staff," he said sincerely, nodding his head in invitation.

"Sir, I would ask about the supplies for Wolfsbane potion. As I believe you know, Severus Snape has been engaged for several months now in teaching me to brew Wolfsbane, for the relief our friend, Remus Lupin."

"Severus has informed me of this enterprise, yes. I told him that I heartily approved, and intend that you should have all the ingredients that you need to brew Wolfsbane for as long as we are both at Hogwarts." Rose mentally noted this concluding provision. When she placed it alongside Severus' cryptic words in March, she felt her earlier sense of foreboding begin to rise again.

"Thank you, Sir. This project has meant a great deal to me, as I know it has for Remus. So, if it is your intention to supply these ingredients, should I plan to obtain them from Severus, or directly from yourself?"

"Oh, I shall have them brought to your office, if that is convenient. You will of course need to begin your batch for this month very soon, of course."

"On Wednesday at the latest, yes," Rose answered.

"Very good. If your schedule allows you to receive them tomorrow evening, I shall be sure they are brought to your office after dinner. Will that serve?"

"That would be extremely convenient, Sir, thank you." Rose was touched as she so often was by his thoughtfulness. "I am grateful for your help."

"Not at all, not at all." He smiled. "Was there anything else with which I may be of service, Miss Evans?"

"Not at this time, Headmaster. I will be sure to seek you out if something should arise." She stood, and he mirrored her and got to his feet as well. _He has such old fashioned manners,_ she thought, feeling her affection for him rise still further.

"If you will allow me to say so, before you go," said Dumbledore before she could wish him a good evening, "It is a great satisfaction to me that you and Harry have been able to become such good friends. Too long you were kept apart. As I hoped, you were able to benefit from an excellent education, and live a life of your own. But there has been a cost, to both of you. I am deeply gratified to observe how Harry has come to trust you, and I know that your own affection for him has long been strong."

He remained standing, but propped himself with one hand on his desk and continued. "As you know, Harry will have an important role in this war against Voldemort. He has told me that he shared with you the contents of the prophecy about him?"

"He has, yes," Rose answered, her heart beginning to race. "But he has not told me of anything since. Nothing of what the two of you have discussed this year in your many lessons, for example."

Dumbledore nodded, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "Yes . . . I have advised discretion on this matter. The information I shared with Harry this year has been of a sensitive nature, and I think it best that very few people know the whole. I confess that I half expected him to confide in you. However, perhaps we would do well to allow Harry to decide how to enact the discretion I advised."

"I completely agree, Headmaster," Rose said, and she meant it. But there was within her (she was somewhat ashamed to admit it) a sinking feeling of disappointment. She realized part of her had hoped he would tell her himself what Harry feared to divulge. She nodded to Dumbledore and was preparing to leave when he said,

"You know, often when there is something I wish to know, I find I must be willing to learn it in a way I did not expect or prefer to do. For example, I have often hoped that someone from whom I needed to learn some information would share it willingly, only to find that I must resort to other methods. There are many ways to come by information such as what you seek to know, Miss Evans. One can be told firsthand, or can gather knowledge through observation. One can be told by a secondhand source. But should those possibilities fail, one must never discount traditional research. I myself have often found long sought information in old books and manuscripts when I had despaired of learning it from any other source."

Rose was listening avidly, though she could not yet see where he was leading her. Professor Dumbledore stepped around his desk slowly as he spoke, and kept her in his gaze as he continued,

"Old books, perhaps books which are not presently in circulation in a traditional library, can be very informative. In support of research and education, I would offer you the loan of any books which you may notice in my office. Some of them have information found in few other sources." As he spoke, he made a slight motion with his arm to a small table which stood against the wall of his office, and next to a locked cupboard. On the table were a short stack of ancient looking books. "You would need to return any books which you borrowed, I'm afraid, by the school year's end. But I think some of them might be illuminating to you, should you wish to be illuminated by them."

Rose stood still, her heart racing. He was offering her the truth, allowing her a way to learn the nature of Harry's quest without breaking confidence himself or allowing Harry to be coerced into divulging it. But she hesitated. What if Harry would not want her to know what these books contained? What if, as he supposed, the knowledge would put her into danger, or (worse) endanger his mission? What if this was some sort of test to which Dumbledore was putting her right now?

Her indecision lasted for several moments. Sirius' face flashed before her mind, his grey eyes sparking with life as they always did when he was presented with the opportunity to take daring action. _Sirius wouldn't think twice,_ Rose thought, while the other part of her mind reasoned, _Sirius is dead. Perhaps he is no good model for my decisions._

But the same restless energy that had propelled her into the Wolfsbane project was now in her veins. Sirius was gone, and Lily was gone, and Harry was in danger. This was war. _I must act,_ she thought, and before the conviction could leave her, she strode over to the table, picked up the short stack of books, and said, "Thank you, Headmaster. I will return them before the end of the term."

He nodded, bringing his hands together in front of his chest and smiling placidly. Rose could hear him exhale slightly. "You are very welcome, Miss Evans. I wish you a pleasant evening."

* * *

Rose spent the next several evenings absorbed in some of the darkest, most troubling texts she had ever encountered. The largest of the tomes she had borrowed, _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , contained instructions for how to, among other things, communicate with the dead, curse the dead, raise the spirits of the dead for a period of time, use a doll-like likeness of an enemy to curse and harm them, summon wicked powers to one's aid, travel outside of one's body, and use the blood of a person whom one had killed in order to predict the future, control the weather, or make crops grow.

Rose was only halfway through the book, but already it had filled her with horror and disgust and been the inspiration for several disturbing dreams by the middle of the week. After she had finished the day's tasks for her Wolfsbane potion on Thursday, Rose again sat down with _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ and, rather unwillingly, began to read again.

 _Chapter Eight: The Horcrux_

 _The Horcrux is among the more intriguing and dangerous of the forms of magic discussed in this collection. This is because the creator of a Horcrux does not simply wish to recall a soul from the dead or to communicate with a soul, but wishes to cause intentional damage to a soul, and to encase it in an object outside of the body. This process requires uncommon force of intention. It defies nature, going beyond the realm of what is considered usual magic._

Rose read feverishly, and as she read, certain phrases began to fall upon her with the heaviness of a tolling bell. _The maker of a Horcrux can be said to have achieved a very real immortality . . . should the human maker be mortally injured, he would be bound to Earth in a spiritual limbo . . . the maker can be veritably reborn… until or unless the maker's Horcrux is destroyed, he cannot truly die._

Rose continued to read, finding instructions for how Horcruxes could be made (these she skimmed, as she found them too disgusting to attend to), how the making of a Horcrux may affects the maker, how a Horcrux might be destroyed, and how the soul might be made whole again, should the maker regret making the Horcrux. When she came to the end of the chapter, she tore her eyes away and let out a breath. If she was not mistaken, this chapter contained the information to which Dumbledore had been leading her. This was the great secret about Voldemort which Harry felt was too dangerous for her to know. Voldemort had made a Horcrux.

Harry had said he had a job to do, she remembered, as she sat and stared at nothing, her clammy hands in her lap. She supposed this would be the job: to find and destroy Voldemort's Horcrux. He had to make Voldemort mortal, before Voldemort could be destroyed. _Vanquish,_ Rose thought, _the Prophecy says Harry has the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. But what will it do to Harry?_ Perhaps it was the chill she had taken from the disturbing content of the book, but Rose found herself wondering if Harry it would be possible to kill this person who was so bonded to him without any damage to himself.

 _Voldemort has been a part of him all these years,_ Rose mused. _What has Voldemort not taken from Harry? He's taken Harry's parents, his godfather, his sense of safety, his very future. If that were not enough, Voldemort has invaded Harry's mind again and again, stealing his sleep, assaulting his peace of mind. He takes, and he takes, and he takes._ She wiped away tears she did not realize had welled up in her eyes as she thought that she had never felt so sizzlingly angry in her life. _How dare he destroy lives and upturn the world all in service to his own ambition of immortality?_

After pacing in her office for several minutes, Rose's pulse had become more even, and her breathing slowed. She sat down again to _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , and turned to the next chapter. She did not really intend to read it; she was sure she had uncovered the only secret it had for her in the chapter on Horcruxes, and opened it only because in her agitation, she could not think of anything else to do. But the title of the chapter caught her attention. _Dreamwalking: The Art of Penetrating Dreams._ Though she had not thought her mind could focus on anything further after the revolution of the Horcrux, Rose read feverishly.

As she got into bed that night, wrapped in an extra blanket (a unnatural cold seemed to have settled over her, despite the warmer May evening), Rose's mind was very clear. _Harry will not tell me of the Horcrux quest. He and Dumbledore will share it together, and the two of them together cannot fail. They will most likely leave me out of it. I will not take his mission from him. But I will not be idle,_ Rose vowed to herself.

She imagined Voldemort, white and snake-like and inhumanly slender, the way Harry had characterized him. _Does one such as that even sleep?_ She imagined him lying down on a sparse, flat bed somewhere, plotting the next murderous action he would take to preserve his small, paltry life. _Tom Riddle_ , she thought, using the given name Harry told her had once belonged to the man. _What have you done? How you have violated your own humanity, how you have ravaged others' lives?_ She thought suddenly of Alexander Montgomery, and of Remus, weeping into his hands. She thought of Sirius, and of Lily and James.

 _You have taken everything from me, and from so many, Tom Riddle. And you stalk after my beloved nephew, the only family I still truly possess, intent on taking him too. And you think you can do all this and sleep in peace when it is over? Oh, Tom Riddle,_ Rose thought, with such fury and intention that she half-wondered if he could hear her. _Sleep while you can. I am coming for you._

* * *

On the evening of the second Tuesday in June, Rose closed the door on the cheerful house elf who had brought her the ingredients for her June batch of Wolfsbane potion. She was pleased, and a little relieved; if they had not been delivered today, she would have had to pay Dumbledore another visit, for she was due to begin brewing the next day. And since Dumbledore had informed the Order of the Phoenix that he would be out of the castle tonight, she was not certain he'd have been back in time anyway. She'd been directed to begin a patrol at nine o'clock, so the elf's arrival at a quarter till nine was doubly welcome. As she went about placing the ingredients onto the shelves of her small cupboard, though, Rose felt a curious sensation in the center of her chest.

For several months now, she had been wearing two tokens on the chain on her neck. One was the ring Sirius had given her in March, which she had not been able to bring herself to remove. The other was the Galleon which Hermione had given her at the founding of Dumbledore's Army the previous year. She had bored a hole in the Galleon on impulse one night in September, and had worn it, more than anything else, as a reminder of her commitment to look out for Harry. But she had not felt it grow warm all that year, until now.

She reached into her robes and pulled out the necklace. After trying unsuccessfully to read the coin with the clasp still fastened, she unfastened it and looked. 100697, the serial number read. _Today's date._

As far as Rose knew, Dumbledore's Army had disbanded the day Dolores Umbridge had broken them up and Dumbledore himself had left the school. _They won't be in the Room of Requirement, having a meeting,_ she thought. _Something's happening. Now._ Leaving the Wolfsbane ingredients where they were, Rose drew her wand and hurried out of her office.

Though she knew no formal meeting was likely to be taking place, Rose could think of no other place to go than the seventh floor. When she rounded the corner from the staircase, she sped up. Ginny and Ron Weasely and Neville Longbottom were standing in a cluster outside the stretch of wall that Harry knew to conceal the Room of Requirement.

"Good evening, Ginny, Ron, Neville. Is there a problem?" Rose asked as she approached.

Neville looked uncertain as to what to say, but Ginny spoke up. "Harry's gone with Dumbledore on a mission. He wants us to watch the Room for him. Malfoy's in there."

"And you know this, because you have the Map," Rose stated, and Ginny nodded. "What does Harry believe Draco Malfoy is doing in the Room?"

Ron answered this time. "I don't think he knows. But you know his theory about Malfoy? That he's a-"

"I do," she interrupted.

"Something to do with that," Ron explained. "Anyway, Harry wanted you to have this." He held out a small vial that contained a mere drop of golden potion. "His Felix Felicis," Ron explained, not waiting for Rose to ask. "He wanted us all to split it. We've saved you the last bit."

Rose's eyes widened, but she took the vial. "He's really afraid, isn't he?"

"I think so," said Ron. He looked far more serious than he usually did, and Rose noticed he was looking her in the eyes, steadily, rather than looking away or flushing. This was striking enough that she nodded, unstoppered the vial, and tossed back the drop of potion that remained.

"Where is Hermione?" she asked, when she'd replaced the stopper and handed it back to Ron.

"Staking out Snape's office with Luna," he said. "Maybe…"

"I'd better go help them," Rose said hastily, seeming to intuit what Ron was about to say. _I can be of more use dealing with Severus than with Draco Malfoy_ she was thinking as she nodded to the three young people and hurried down towards the second floor.

She was not sure what she'd expected when had found Luna and Hermione in an alcove near Snape's office on the second floor, but waiting for more than an hour outside a door which moved no more than the walls which framed it was an odd anti-climax. She had taken a few breaks to patrol the corridors, but she'd been outside Snape's office for around thirty minutes since her last break, when a familiar four-legged Patronus came galloping around the corner. It spoke with Tonks' voice.

"Seventh floor, Rose. Hurry," was its only message.

She turned to the girls. Luna had fallen asleep; Hermione looked at her with wide, yet tired eyes. "Stay here. The Order is patrolling; you don't need to involve yourselves." Without waiting for Hermione to protest, Rose fairly ran to the staircase. As she hurried up the steps, she very nearly ran into a small, panting figure. Filius Flitwick was dashing down the stairs. "Good, Miss Evans, you've heard," he squeaked. "I'm getting Severus."

And he hurtled down past her, leaving Rose wishing she'd thought to knock on Severus' door instead. But she was not yet into the 7th floor corridor when Snape himself pushed past her. He barely glanced at her, but pounded into the corridor.. Rose did not register what became of him then, in part because the corridor was strangely dark, and in part because she found herself suddenly in the midst of a battle.

The darkness (Rose had to assume it was the result of some spell, since she could make out the flames of the torches bright against the walls, but they seem to cast almost no light), was intense, but not absolute. Through it, Rose could see Tonks battling a masked Death Eater; a little further down the corridor, Remus was firing spells at a snarling Death Eater, who dodged and then seemed to melt into the darkness. Rose looked to her left and saw Ginny and Ron, back to back, fighting one masked Death Eater and one whose mask had slipped, revealing the hard face and fair hair of Corban Yaxley.

Rose ran forward, incensed. "Enter a school, will you? Attack children? _Fils de pute!"1_ And spells began to fairly fly from her wand.

The usual sense of exhilaration and fury filled her as she fought, and something else too. Rose found that she could not only anticipate what the enemy facing her was about to do, she was able to instinctively dodge and avoid curses shot from behind her back, too. Dimly, she registered the probable effects of the Felix Felicis.

At some point, Rose noticed that there were fewer Death Eaters to fight. Yaxley and Rowle continued to fire spells at them, but the others had disappeared up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. "They've blocked the stairs!" Remus shouted. "Reducto! REDUCTO!"

But nothing availed him; the barrier could not be breached. The students and Order members in the corridor could only parry and retaliate against the two Death Eaters that remained in the corridor to oppose them.

Back and forth they went. Rose lost track of how many times she shouted at the young people to leave the corridor, but they none of them obeyed her. Perhaps they could not; Rose realized as she ducked down (serendipitously avoiding both Rowle's spell and Ron's returning jinx, which might have hit her) that she did not know what was on the other side of the corridor. Perhaps more enemies lurked just out of sight.

Minutes went by, with no sign of the two Death Eaters succumbing to spells or flagging in their attacks, and then suddenly it all gave way like a collapsing house. First, Severus Snape tore out of the stairway at a run. He was followed by Draco Malfoy, and he looked totally uninterested in fighting either Death Eaters or Order Members as he streaked past. "It's over! Time to go!" he called as he disappeared from the other end of the corridor.

Then, three Death Eaters came hurtling down the stairs and back into the fray. Rose hardly had time to notice that the light was almost fully restored to the corridor now before the other two Death Eaters turned and pelted after Snape, one of them turning quickly to fire a spell at Rose. It missed, and then he was gone.

Briefly, the battle resumed. Rose had Stunned one Death Eater and was running at Greyback, leaping over inert bodies ( _whose?_ ) in thoughtless fury when the werewolf turned away from her and threw himself at a newcomer. Rose only had a brief glimpse of Harry's pale face before Greyback knocked him to the ground.

" _Petrificus Totalus_!" she shouted, and Harry's enemy went stiff. Harry heaved the body off of himself before Rose could get to him. He was on his feet in an instant and gave every sign of wanting to take off running after Snape, but Rose stopped him. "Harry, what's happened?"

His face was aghast. He was pale, agitated, his eyes wild and tear tracks visible on his cheeks. "He's dead. Dumbledore's dead, Rose. Snape's killed him."

All of the Death Eaters and their opponents had taken off running now; the last of them was disappearing around the corner as Harry shot one more anguished look at Rose and joined the pursuit.

She began to run after him, but stopped when one of the inert bodies she passed gave a low moan. She had a moment of indecision, but then turned back and crouched down next to the bleeding form. His red hair had come loose from its accustomed ponytail, and his face . . . his face was a ravaged, bleeding mass. But still, Rose had no trouble recognizing him, and she gasped, then levitated his body.

Forcing back the horror and panic her last sighting of Harry had kindled, Rose stood and made herself walk, instead of run, next to the mangled form of Bill Weasley as she directed it toward the hospital wing.

1 _Sons of bitches!_


	38. Third Flower Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Landscaping

 **A.N. There is no date given for Dumbledore's funeral, but given that he died just before O.W.L.s were slated to begin, I decided that the weekend of June 14-15 was probably the best time for a funeral, particularly as Jo records Lupin as present at the event and the following Friday (June 20) was a full moon.**

 **The wedding is set on June 28th, 1997**

 **Rose's first foray into dreamwalking takes place on July 4, 1997.**

From the time the merpeople began to sing while Hagrid carried Dumbledore's body into his funeral, Rose's mind was abstracted. As much as she tried to keep her eyes to the front of the assembly and listen to the words of the various dignified speakers, they kept drifting to the people around her and her thoughts remained with the living.

Fleur, next to her, sat straight and tall in a flawless black frock and neat, dark bonnet. She looked a model of decorum and respectability. Rose had to admire her discipline, for her eyes never wavered from the happenings at the front of the crowd, her hand holding firmly to the inside of Bill's arm. Bill's face may have been irrevocably damaged by Greyback's savage bites and slashes, but his formal dress robes and Fleur's radiant presence beside him made him look something like a decorated war hero.

Rose reflected upon the change that had come over the couple, thinking that it was not just the solemn atmosphere of the funeral and the formal clothing that infused them with such dignity. Ever since the scene at Bill's bedside in the hospital wing the previous week, the two had seemed less like covert young lovers on the margins of a family party and more like adults. Molly's public acceptance of Fleur had conferred a great deal of this dignity. Indeed, the two were in each other's company whenever Bill was not nearby, and often even when he was. " _C'est comme je vous l'ai dit_ ," Rose had commented when Bill was being discharged from the hospital wing, " _Vous avez gagné son amour en aimant son fils._ "1

Bill and Fleur looked a stark contrast from the couple who sat directly in front of them. Tonks' hair was a brilliant, but decidedly non-funereal pink that morning, and her black dress, though simple enough, was cut much shorter than was wonted in the wizarding world. Lupin, with whom she held hands, looked a great deal shabbier than Bill. He had worn his neatest olive colored robes, but no spells could quite hide that they had certainly not been purchased that decade. Rose had to fight a smile, however, at the sight of their joined hands. The state of things between them was the brightest light of anything else she could see in this dreadful week.

Rose allowed her mind to return to the scene around Bill's hospital wing bed, when Tonks had lifted her voice against Lupin. "I don't care either, I don't care!" she had shouted into his mortified face in front of the entire assembly of Order and Dumbledore's Army members. The two had left the scene abruptly afterwards, leaving Rose to comfort the young people as best she could. Hermione had sidled up to Rose, welcoming Rose's hugs and reassurances that she was not at fault for remaining at Flitwick's side for so long. Ron had been warming to Rose too. Harry, however, had quickly withdrawn into moody solitude. Only Ginny seemed to be able to coax much talk out of him lately.

It had taken three days for Tonks and Lupin to resurface. Her duties greatly reduced by the diminished number of students who remained after Dumbledore's death, Rose had gone back to her flat in Dalston for Friday and Saturday, planning to return for the funeral on Sunday. She'd only just put her bag in the bedroom and exchanged her shoes for slippers when there was a knock at the door. There was a knock, and then there was a giggle. Then a muffled male voice, followed by an answering female voice and another giggle. Before Rose could even get to the door, Tonks' voice rang out clearly. "Rose! It's us! C'mon, let us in, we've got drinks."

She had let them in without asking security questions, and Lupin did not seem in a mood to urge caution. They tumbled in, both pink cheeked and seemingly deliriously happy (and also, apparently, a bit squiffy).

"Hullo, Rosey, sorry to burst in on you like this. Only, Tonks thought you wouldn't mind." She'd never heard Remus sound quite so giddy.

" _Foutaise,_ Remus, I always want to see friends," she'd told him, waving away his apology. "Tell me you're staying for dinner?"

Internally, she was flummoxed. After the scene in the hospital wing, Rose had rather expected Lupin to seek her out; after all, she had a full cauldron of Wolfsbane potion to offer him on her kitchen stove. She might have expected Tonks to knock on the door, distraught, perhaps bearing wine. But she could not have predicted that they would clamber in together like this, giggling and in high spirits.

"I don't know, it depends what Tonks-"

"Of course we'll stay!" Tonks interrupted, throwing her arm around Rose and putting a bottle of champagne on Rose's kitchen table with one gesture. "We're celebrating," she informed Rose, whose arm had slipped around her in return and who was looking at her with amused bewilderment.

"You're celebrating-?" Only days from Dumbledore's death, Rose could only dimly grasp the meaning of the word.

Tonks and Remus looked at each other. Rose registered that Lupin was beaming, his color high, and that Tonks' hair was electric blue before her mind exclaimed what must be the reason. "Are you-" Rose began, then stopped.

Both parties seemed to be having a silent struggle over who would speak, but then Remus burst out, "We're engaged, Rosey!"

There was a few seconds in which the meaning of these words had to percolate through her mind. Weeks ago, she would have understood. But with the shock of the events of Dumbledore's death still fogging her mind, at first, Rose could only gape at them. Then, suddenly, she had clapped her hands to her mouth to keep from shouting with delight.

The morning of the funeral, Tonks had told Rose the whole story. "When we left Hogwarts, I fully intended to leave him behind, to leave everyone behind. I practically ran to Hogsmeade, trying to get the the apparition point before I had to talk to anyone. Wanted to lick my wounds, you know," she'd said, smiling wryly over her tea. "Thought I'd made enough of an arse of myself for one night. But, as it turned out, I hadn't."

Thinking she was alone, Tonks had indeed burst into a run once she'd arrived at the outskirts of Hogsmeade. But just before she had reached the first building in the village, her foot had struck one of the boulders with which the edge of the Hogwarts grounds was littered, and before she'd had time to make a noise, she'd hit the ground. She had felt her ankle twist, but her wand had flown from her hand at the impact. Tonks was beginning to pat the ground around her, searching for it and cursing under her breath, when Remus' voice had come from behind her.

"You really need to brush up on your Stealth and Tracking, Dora."

He had helped locate her wand, healed her ankle, and helped her to her feet before enough time had passed for her to do more than glare at him. But when she was on her feet again and was preparing to Disapparate to her flat to soothe her bruised ego (and her knees), Lupin had laid a hand on her shoulder. "Dora. Please," he had said, "can we go somewhere and talk?"

They had gone, initially, to a quiet, Muggle pub, not far from Tonks' flat. "That way, if things went sour, I could get home without risking another fall," Tonks had explained, and Rose had chuckled. They had talked for nearly the whole of the rest of the night.

"When it came down to it, the crux of it was, he wanted to protect me," Tonks said. "He said he kept telling himself he was doing the right thing, staying away from me. And that while he was in the camp, among all the other werewolves, it was easier to believe he was right, that I'd get over him, that I'd be safer without him. But having been away from it for two moons, and then hearing what Arthur Weasley had to say in the hospital wing, he started to reconsider. And, then, he said," Tonks had rolled her eyes as she said it, grinning, "There was my hair."

"Your hair?" Rose had asked, frowning.

"I still couldn't morph, even after a year. He said that's what made him realize I wasn't going to just get over him, and that he wasn't protecting me from anything by avoiding me."

"I told him that a dozen times!" Rose cried, throwing up her arms indignantly.

"I must've told him a million times," Tonks agreed, running her hands through her magenta hair. "He had to tell it to himself. The stupid arse," she added, grinning.

Sitting in her folding chair there on the Hogwarts lawn, Rose smiled to remember their evident joy. She quickly rearranged her face into a more suitable expression as the tufty-haired wizard droned on. Still, Minerva's words of the previous week echoed in her mind: "Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world." Rose felt the rightness of these words with greater certainty than she felt almost anything. Dumbledore would surely have delighted to think that people sat at his funeral rejoicing in love.

Rose found that she was grateful to have been so distracted during the funeral, for when it concluded, and the white flames had burned away and been replaced by the white tomb, she was clear-headed enough to make conversation with those around her. She had a few friendly words from Bill, and from Tonks and Lupin she had a longer conversation and an embrace from Tonks.

"We're going to have it on the 28th," Tonks breathed in her ear as they parted. "After the moon." With a lift of her eyebrow and a significant look, Tonks turned and accompanied Remus in walking toward the village.

 _That was a wedding invitation,_ Rose realized, and for a moment, jealousy crept into her emotions. She had never shared it with Sirius, but she had always wanted to be married in June. Perhaps on her birthday. _It couldn't have been my birthday this year, though,_ she thought, frantically trying to distract herself from the emotion that was simmering inside her. _My birthday's the full moon. The best man would not have been able to attend._

She was glad for Fleur's interruption. The young woman had apparently been dying to give her opinion of the event which had just concluded ( _"Dans l'ensemble, de belles obsèques, mais pourquoi ont-elles permis au garde-chasse de porter le corps?"2_ ) but as they strolled a little away from the assembly, Rose saw something which distracted her yet again. Harry was standing by the shore of the Black Lake, in the company of Rufus Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour was talking heatedly, while Harry stood with his arms crossed, unmoving.

She held up a hand to Fleur, smiling apologetically and gesturing toward the Lake. " _Fleur, un instant. Quelqu'un a besoin de sauver à nouveau mon neveu_."3

Fleur looked over at the scene by the lake and scowled at the sight of the Minister. " _Je dois dire que je n'ai été impressionné par aucun des ministres anglais de la magie que j'ai connus._ "4

Rose had spotted who she was looking for by this time, and she took gentle hold of Fleur's arm and steered her toward the row where Ron, and Hermione were still sitting. Ginny, who had been sitting next to Harry in the same row, was nowhere to be seen. Ron had his arms around Hermione, who was wiping her eyes as he spoke to her in a low voice. It was not a scene which Rose wanted to interrupt. A quick glance, though, showed her that Scrimgeour had not left Harry's side, so she put her hand gently on Hermione's shoulder.

"Hermione. Ron. So sorry to interrupt. But I think Harry could use your company."

Both of them stood and looked in the direction Rose was indicating. "Oh, dear," Hermione said, just as Ron said, "That bloody great nuisance again?" Without seeming to consult each other, they both started off in Harry's direction.

After she had finished speaking with Fleur, and had exchanged a few friendly phrases with the Weasleys, Rose turned toward Harry. She hesitated. Harry had not sought out a conversation with her since Dumbledore's death, and she wondered if he would prefer she keep away now. He, Ron, and Hermione were sitting under a spreading beech tree now, Scrimgeour having stumped away from them some time ago. Their conversion seemed calm, but sober.

Rose considered withdrawing and leaving him to the solace of his friends and familiar surroundings. But, the funeral effectively marked the end of the school year, and she knew he would soon be on a train, bound for London and for her sister's unwelcoming home. _I wasn't able to make him this offer when he was a child. Petunia saw to that. I'd better not miss the opportunity now._

"Harry?" Rose had approached the trio so quietly that she called out his name to avoid startling them. They had ceased talking, but were simply looking out at the lake together. Ron and Hermione were holding hands discreetly.

Harry looked up at Rose's voice, and then got to his feet.

"It's all right, you don't need to get up," she protested, but he ignored this and walked over to her, leaving Ron and Hermione to sit a little more closely together once they had turned back around. Rose and Harry strolled the path around the shimmering Lake in silence for about a minute. Then, Rose cleared her throat.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her eyes darting to his face. He looked pale, and his eyes were red rimmed. "Of course you're not," she answered herself. He said nothing.

"Harry, I'll be returning to my flat this evening. I suppose you'll be going back to Privet Drive?"

"I have to," he replied. "Dumbledore wanted me to, one more time, before I turn seventeen."

"'As long as you call that place your home, you can't be harmed,'" Rose quoted. "I know. You have to go back. But we'll be getting you out before you come of age. You know that, don't you?"

"Lupin mentioned it, yeah." He put his hands in his pockets.

"So you have to go back to the Dursley's. But do you need to stay there? I mean, can you get away from a weekend or a day and still be able to call Privet Drive your home? Because, you know, I'd be very happy to have you, if you wanted to visit me." She looked at him quickly, and saw something of interest flicker in his eyes. "We could do whatever you liked in London. A museum. A film. Or you could just come see my flat for a change of pace. There's a second bedroom. I've got a television. We could bring your PlayStation," she suggested, smiling a little.

"Thanks, Rose," he said, a faint smile on his own face. "I'd like that."

"I've wanted you to come and visit me since I left school. Ever since Petunia intercepted my letter when you were eight. I wanted to make sure you know: you always have somewhere to go. You know, besides the Weasleys'. Besides Grimmauld Place. My flat, such as it is, can be your home too, if you like."

"I- I'd love to stay with you. Thank you. I just, I don't quite know . . . after Bill and Fleur's wedding, I don't exactly know where I'll be going. I might have to go to a few places, and it might take a while. I've got-"

"You've got a job to do," Rose finished for him, and he nodded. "I know you do. And not just because you've told me." She stopped walking and turned to face him, looking straight into his eyes, which were so like her own. "How many of them are there, Harry?" she asked in a low voice.

His eyes widened before they looked away from her. "How many what?" he asked, in what seemed a deliberately casual tone.

"How many Horcruxes did he make?" Rose asked him, not taking her eyes from his face.

He exhaled. "How do you know about that?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. Dumbledore set me on the right track, that's all. But that's what he did, isn't it? And you've got to destroy them before you can defeat Voldemort."

He only looked at her at first. Then he said, "Yes."

"How many?" she persisted.

"We think there are seven."

"Oh," was all she said, but as Rose contemplated the bloody, grotesque trail Voldemort must have left across the years to have produced so many abominations to humanity and nature, she muttered, " _Mon Dieu_." Then she said, more loudly, "I'm not going to get in your way, you know. I know you feel you must do this on your own. But I would feel better if you'd let someone come with you."

"Ron and Hermione say they're coming," Harry muttered. "But, I dunno . . ."

"You should let them," Rose told him. "They're the best team you could have. With Hermione's mind, and Ron's heart? That's the power-the-Dark-Lord-knows-not, if you ask me. Your love and your friends."

"I just don't want them to get hurt."

" _I_ don't very much fancy the idea of _you_ getting hurt," Rose told him. "But we have to trust people we love to make decisions for themselves. I won't get in your way, Harry, but I will help, in any way you'll let me. I'll put wards on my flat, enchantments, so it's safe if you need a place to stay. I won't be idle, either, whatever you do. I have something I'm going to be working on, too." She smiled at him again. "Maybe one day I'll let you know what it is."

They strolled for another thirty minutes by the gently lapping lake. Harry told Rose the whole story of his journey with Dumbledore to a cave by the shore, and the horrors that had been inside. He showed her a locket and a note, whose signatory initials caused Rose to suck in her breath. "I think you'll find you need a visit to Grimmauld Place sometime after the wedding. It may help you, you know. Gather yourself up before the leap, as it were."

"Maybe I will," he agreed. They had arrived, though hardly noticing where they were walking, back at the place under the beech tree where Ron and Hermione were still sitting very close together.

"I think we'll be celebrating your birthday at the Weasleys' this year," Rose told him before she left. "So, I'll get in touch with Petunia and see if I can't get you to London for a few days in early July. I'll be a bit busy before; I've got another wedding to go to, you see," she added, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Oh. Er, have you? That sounds like fun," he responded. She could tell he had no idea to whom she could be referring. _Teenage boys_ , she thought, shaking her head. But, she decided to leave it at that, for they were now in range of Ron and Hermione's hearing. Hermione had looked up at their approach, but Rose only waved at her, hugged Harry, and walked off toward the village.

When the moon was at the last quarter, and the month was nearly at an end, Rose spent the night at Tonks' flat. Artemis Fawley, the only other good friend of Tonks' who was available at such short notice, knocked at the flat door at half past ten. Rose was silently drinking tea and reading at Tonks' high, bar-style kitchen table. Tonks was asleep.

"Wotcher, Tonks?" came a voice from the front door. Without waiting to be let in, Artemis appeared in the kitchen in a cloud of patchouli, her dreadlocked hair arranged in a formal sort of knot on the top of her head, her nose ring glinting in the morning light. She was carrying a basket of what turned out to be Scotch eggs. Rose looked up and smiled at her pleasantly. "Good morning."

"Morning! Nice day for it," Artemis announced as she set the basket down on the table. Looking around, she demanded, "Is she really still asleep? TONKS!" the young woman bellowed, walking through the kitchen toward the bedroom. "Get UP, you silly cow. Isn't the wedding at noon?"

"It's a casual affair," came Tonks' sleepy reply. Within an hour, they had breakfasted on the Scotch Eggs and tea, and Tonks was dressed. She wore a silk gown with a knee- length, full skirt, whose color on first glance appeared to be white, but which kept shifting its hue in the light like a dragonfly's wings. "Mum's going to hate it," she said, cheerfully, as she laced up her purple trainers.

Artemis ran a hand familiarly through Tonks' turquoise pixie-style cut. "Are you leaving it like this, or-?"

"I haven't decided," Tonks said, thoughtfully.

"I suppose Metamorphmagi can leave these things to the last minute," Rose observed, putting pins in her own hair and surveying herself critically in the mirror.

Tonks screwed up her face and gave herself long, raven hair. Artemis murmured appreciatively, but Tonks shook her head. "Too much like Mum." She tried blonde and curly, ginger and wavy, and finally settled on shoulder-length hair in her trademark bubble-gum pink.

At noon, they met Remus, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Arthur Weasley at the Ministry of Magic. Molly and Arthur had offered the use of their yard, but Remus and Tonks had graciously declined. "One wedding is more than enough for you to worry about in one summer!" Remus had told them, and Tonks had agreed. Instead, they all crowded into a very small room in the Wizengamot Administration Offices on Level Two of the Ministry of Magic, where they joined the rest of the guests. A middle-aged witch in clerical robes performed the brief ceremony.

Rose spent most of the ceremony looking at Remus, who in turn was apparently unable to keep his eyes from Tonks. She did look lovely in her characteristically off-beat way. Her rose-colored hair brought out the flush in her heart-shaped face, and she kept glancing at Remus with such undisguised adoration that it made her radiant.

Remus' expression was similarly transformed. The lines in his face seemed to have melted away as he gazed at Tonks, looking as if he'd never be able to get enough of her. He seemed younger than he had looked in years, and brim-full with joy. Rose watched Remus and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. _How Sirius would have loved this day_ , she thought half a dozen times as the two promised to love and support one another all the days of their lives and were declared bonded for life by the middle-aged witch.

Wizarding weddings required no fewer than seven unrelated witness signatures. Rose carefully wrote Rose Evans beneath the names of Arthur Weasley, Molly Weasley, Artemis Fawley, Alastor Moody, and then she turned and gave Kingsley Shacklebolt the quill, smiling at him warmly. She was pleased with everyone today, despite the frequent twinges of longing for Sirius to be with them. As she walked away from the Marriage Certificate parchment, Rose was musing upon whether or not she would have taken Sirius' surname, or, as he had half-jokingly suggested, whether he would have taken hers ("I've been a Black for entirely too long, _Mademoiselle_. I'd abandon the name entirely before I'd foist it on anyone else!" he'd said), when an explosion sounded in the corridor outside the open chamber door, followed by a commotion.

"How do you defuse them?" someone was shouting urgently.

Kingsley, who had just finished signing his name, dashed out out of the room. "Don't use a Reductor!" he shouted, in a much more urgent voice than Rose had ever heard him use. Another explosion sounded and Kingsley's tall body briefly reappeared in the doorframe, then disappeared again. "CUT THE WIRES!" he bellowed. " _DIFFINDO!_ "

Other voices rang out. "Diffindo!" "DIFFINDO!" and then there was silence.

Rose strained her ears from where she'd been huddling with Remus, Tonks, and Artemis Fawley, but she could only make out wordless voices. The voices sounded much calmer now, though. A moment later, Kingsley was back in the room. "We seem to be safe, now. Just . . . seems like a bit of a prank." His voice was back to its usual easy tempo and low pitch, but Rose did not miss the hesitation in it. She glanced at Remus and Tonks. Remus' face had resumed its lined, worn look; Tonks' eyes were narrowed, her mouth a flat line that almost disappeared. The sight of the expressions they were now wearing on their wedding day went to Rose's heart, and she strode forward to join Kingsley in the hallway. Only Andromeda Tonks got to the door before she did.

The sight that met them in the hallway explained Kingsley's hesitation. The hall was littered with exploded and defused Bombtastic Bombs, the shells of the exploded ones surrounded by ash and covered with displaced ceiling plaster. The unexploded bombs shone cheerfully, the insignia for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes visible on each one. But what was in the center of the hallway made Rose draw in her breath, and then flare her nostrils in fury. Written in what appeared to be dark red blood, but which smelled much worse, were the words,

 **BLOOD TRAITORS AND HALF-BREEDS WHELP ONLY DEATH**

These words appeared on the floor; on the wall next to them, however, was a green, faintly glowing Dark Mark. The snake slithered eerily against the stone wall.

"Don't let them see," was the first thing Rose found herself capable of saying, but Andromeda had beaten her to it. Returning quickly to the door, the tall, elegant looking woman called out, "It's all right, only a prank. We'll just tidy up, before Nymphadora's shoes are ruined! Just a moment."

"Mum, I'm wearing trainers. You saw them!" came Tonks' exasperated voice, but Andromeda ignored her, shutting the door with a snap.

Kingsley, Rose, and Andromeda went to work alongside the two Ministry employees who had been in the corridor, checking to ensure all bombs had been defused, and then Vanishing the mess. The Dark Mark alone could not be removed.

When everyone trooped out of the chamber, Rose saw Remus glance at the Dark Mark on the wall and stiffen. He'd started to pick up his pace, seemingly to prevent Tonks from seeing it, but then he did a double take at the Magical Maintenance wizard who was now attempting its removal. "Reg?" he asked, stopping dead.

The wizard whirled around, his dark blue robes striking the wall as he did. "Sure it isn't Remus Lupin?"

"How are you?" Remus was shaking his hand vigorously in a moment. "How are your children?"

They were all held up a moment while Lupin and the Maintenance worker exchanged pleasantries. When he learned that Remus was just coming from his wedding, he demanded to shake Tonks' hand and warmly congratulated both. "That was Reg Cattermole. He was two years ahead of me at school," Remus explained as they trooped into the elevator. "He married Mary MacDonald, a good friend of Lily's, Rose, and a Gryffindor in her year."

The reception, such as it was, was to be held in a private room at The Leaky Cauldron, and those of the party who had fit into the first elevator were just discussing what they would order to eat, when the doors opened and Kingsley, who was standing in front of Rose, stiffened.

"Arthur," he said, and Mr. Weasley peered around him. The two exchanged looks. "I'm going to follow him," Kingsley told Mr. Weasley. "Just- watch your step," he said to the group, and disappeared.

They trooped across the floor to the fireplaces to exit. Rose could not help noticing how much attention they seemed to attract; some people merely glanced at them curiously, but a great many stared openly, and some whispered to those near them. As they were preparing to enter the Floo, they could hear a hissing voice call, "Werewolf scum!" and another shout "Blood traitors! Get out while you can!"

Rose was shaking with fury as they filed through Diagon Alley toward the Leaky Cauldron. Remus, for his part, seemed determined to brush the incidents off and to enjoy the day, joking with Tonks and embracing her as they walked. But Rose sidled up to Arthur and asked, "Who was it that Kingsley was following?"

"Corban Yaxley was in the Atrium," he replied in an undertone. "Walking with Pius Thicknesse, which is even more disturbing. He's the new Head of Magical Law Enforcement," he explained, in answer to Rose's questioning look.

"The Dark Mark on the walls, Death Eaters roaming the atrium," Rose mused. "The Ministry stands on shaky legs, it would seem."

"I'm afraid you're right," he said, heavily, then assumed a bright smile as they entered the pub and followed the music to the reception.

Remus and Tonks danced seven dances together in the dark, stuffy room at the pub, and if Tonks stumbled, tripped, or misstepped at all as she danced in Remus' arms, no one saw her do it.

Rose had returned _Secrets of the Darkest Art,_ along with the other dark arts books which all happened to mention Horcruxes, at the beginning of June. Before she returned them to Dumbledore's office, though, she had painstakingly copied some ten pages of material out of the pages of _Secrets of the Darkest Art._ On the day before the new moon in July, Rose took a box out from under her bed, removed the copied pages, and placed them on her bed.

 _Dreamwalking is most efficacious when the moon is new. Any moonlight will cause an impediment to the Dreamwalker's progress. The brighter the moonlight, the greater the interference. Dreamwalking attempted at Full Moon will be completely ineffective._

 _It goes without saying that the subject of the Dreamwalk must be asleep for the spell to be effective._

 _To begin, the Dreamwalker must perform the four-directions incantation to create a compass (_ septentrio, meridies, oriens, occidens _), then seat themselves within the compass. Therein they must meditate upon the events of the Dream they wish to create or influence._

Rose re-read the instructions in their entirety; it would not do forget the next step when she was in a trance-like state and unable to see the pages before her. She had already brought the basin of icy water which she would use to wake herself, and she'd made arrangements to have Tonks over for the night (Remus was patrolling at Malfoy Mansion) in case anything went wrong. When she was sure she remembered the instructions, Rose tapped her wand in all four directions and said the incantations to create the compass. She settled herself in the middle of the compass, and begin to concentrate.

The instructions had said that the meditation must be vivid, focused upon something which the Dreamwalker could clearly visualize. Of the many dreams which she wished to inflict upon Tom Riddle, the vividest in her mind was a dream of Lily. Lily, so intelligent, so compassionate, so formidable in her magic, so beautiful. It was Lily she thought of first whenever she considered the reasons Tom Riddle should have for remorse, and it was Lily upon whom she focused her thoughts now.

 _Lily's face was before her, smiling, green eyes flashing. Lily as she'd been as a teenager, talking animatedly, laughing easily, throwing up her chin when anyone weak was threatened. Lily, who was not too old to skip with her baby sister, applauding at Rose's summer recital, arguing spiritedly over politics with their mother in the kitchen. Lily in love with James, all lit up inside when she looked at him, eyes snapping wickedly when they sparred, her face illuminated by the sunset when she had married him on that June evening. Lily, round and pink in pregnancy. Lily, the day Harry was born, flushed and glowing with pride and love._

 _And then, on that ghastly night, Lily's body. Sirius had told Rose how it was, his eyes far away, his jaw set to keep out the threatening emotion, because Sirius had loved her too. Lily, sprawled out on the rug in front of the crib, her hair covering one sightless eye, her arm at an odd angle, deaf to the cries of the baby, who was gripping the bars of the crib, then reaching out for Sirius to pick him up. One moment of focus on Harry, his tiny nose running, tears clinging to the eyelashes that framed his vivid green eyes, her eyes. Lily. Gone, for Voldemort's cruelty and soaring ambition. Gone._

When she had run through the sequence in her mind three times, Rose opened her eyes only enough to wipe away the tears and pick up her wand, then closed them again. " _Somnio."_

And then she was asleep, for she was no longer aware of her body against the hard floor of her bedroom, or of her surroundings. Thoughts had softened, become more malleable, and words did not come to her as readily. Rose thought in images, in intentions, and rather _leaned_ toward an idea than thought about it. The experience was so unsettling at first that she almost woke herself up prematurely in mild panic. But she forced herself to let her focus go soft, not to grip at herself or anything around her so tightly. It was not wise to attempt to have a waking mind in a dream.

Rose leaned out, recognizing that a great deal of space separated her from her object. The space in the dream-state was not geographic, not like a map, but like a web. Dreamers shone, bright nodes in a delicate network, though each was recognizable in its distinctive essence. Rose could not have described how she knew which person was Tom Riddle, or where he was, but after drifting and leaning by turns through the silvery web, she recognized the node that was her destination.

She recognized it first, then noticed as she entered it that it was different in quality from every other node she had passed. Tom's dreams were hard, sharp, and defined, but cold. There was no room in them for emotions; the place lacked a necessary dimension somehow. Rose found herself feeling flattened, and smothered. She almost cried out and tried to wake herself, but reminding herself that she did not need to breathe here, Rose leaned into the node with her intention for the dream of Lily.

 _Lily . . . you did not trouble to know her. Lily, one of your many victims, but she was loved, and she was lovely. Look at her, Tom. Look at the woman you killed, nearly sixteen years ago. She was your enemy, because she loved, and because she had courage. She defied you, Tom Riddle. You think you defeated her, but in ending her life you created so many enemies, and among them the most dangerous to you. Look at her. She loved. She lived. You have a body, you draw breath, but are you alive? Have you ever in your days been as alive as she was at any given moment of her life? Look at her, Tom. Feel what you have done, if you have the strength. Feel it, for your doom is coming for you, a doom which you created yourself. Look at her._

When she had conveyed the whole of the dream to him (and she knew that he saw what she wished him to, and heard what she wished him to, for he thrashed at first and then retreated into helpless fury which she could feel as she lingered), Rose leaned forward to reach the cold basin of water and thus, wake herself.

Nothing happened.

She leaned again, and found herself leaning toward the source of the rage which was Tom himself. She leaned back, then concentrated. _Lean_. Again, she only moved closer to the rage. _Retreat._ The lack of emotional dimension felt very much like smothering, and the fear she felt was what caused her to realize she had a body with which to flee. Her body spasmed and launched itself forward in blind panic. There were cold, wet sensations, and then Rose was in her body again, with eyes which she could open and see the shining basin of icy water.

She coughed, spluttered, and lay on the floor of her room several minutes as her heartbeat slowed and her thoughts returned to her. She was Rose, in her own body, in her own flat, in Dalston. Tonks was in the other room. She would see Harry tomorrow.

As if in response to Rose's thoughts, Tonks padded into the room, wearing pyjamas and looking as if she'd been asleep. "You all right then? Did you do it?" she asked, reaching out a hand to squeeze Rose's shoulder.

"I think so," Rose said, breathing heavily. "It was . . . so strange. Frightening. Waking up was the hardest part to pull off. It's like you have to remember what it feels like to have a body, when you have no concept of what a body is. I shall have to get better at it."

"That was stone cold metal, Rose," Tonks told her admiringly, and Rose found herself laughing.

"I'm glad you're here," she told the other witch, who squeezed her hand. "Mind coming round next month?"

"Oh, why not, I've already got one set of monthly duties, why not two?" Tonks joked, and as Rose's laugh bubbled up she felt that all the blood had finally reached her extremities. She had walked in Tom Riddle's nightmares, but she had returned.

1 "It is as I told you. You have gained her love in loving her son."

2 "Overall, a beautiful funeral, but why would they allow the game-keeper to carry the body?"

3 "Fleur, a moment. Someone has to rescue my nephew again."

4 "I must say, I have not been impressed with either of the English Ministers of Magic that I have known."

16


	39. Third Flower Chapter 40

**Chapter 40: Uprooted**

 **A.N. Harry is rescued on Saturday, July 26th, 1997. His visit to Rose in London had taken place on the weekend of July 5. Harry's seventeenth birthday party, of course, is on July 31st, 1997, and the wedding takes place on August the first.**

Rose felt that she was watching her nephew explode in slow motion. Standing in the Weasleys' crowded living room, she was largely silent as Remus, Arthur, Molly, and Hagrid were trying to help Harry moderate his guilt, his grief, and his anxiety in the wake of Mad-Eye Moody's death.

"It would make our efforts tonight seem rather pointless if you left," Arthur cajoled.

"Yer not goin' anywhere," Hagrid insisted.

"Mad-Eye wouldn't want-"

Rose, who had been watching Harry's tightened fists and rapid breathing for some minutes, was not surprised at all when he finally shouted "I KNOW!" at them all, though several people jumped, startled at his outburst. Nor was she surprised when, a minute later, after several people had taken it upon themselves to correct his story of what had happened with his wand and Voldemort, he turned and walked away from them all into the Weasleys' garden.

Rose had seen something else besides mere emotional overwhelm in his eyes, though. It was as if he was trying to suppress an episode of vomiting; his eyes had become glassy and there was a rim of sweat around his hairline. When he left, she looked at Ron and Hermione pointedly, then followed him. She felt sure that his friends would join them soon.

"Harry," she said, catching up with him at the garden gate. He made as if to turn around at the sound, then suddenly fell to his knees. His hand was clutching his forehead. Rose helped him to ease himself to the ground, placing his head in her lap so that he would not injure himself, for he had begun to twitch and thrash slightly. He did not cry out to the degree that he would have been heard from the house, but he moaned and whimpered once or twice, his eyes rolling back in his head.

If Rose had not known of these occasional fits, the result of his connection to Voldemort's mind and emotions, from Hermione's descriptions, she might have been frightened for him. As it was, she was deeply unsettled, and watched anxiously until with a start, he jerked back into consciousness, breathing fast and looking around frantically.

"Harry, you're safe," she told him. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back down onto her robes for a moment, still struggling to calm his breath. Rose put her hand on his head and waited for him to open his eyes again.

When he did, she asked quietly, "You saw something you didn't want to see, didn't you?"

"I saw Voldemort torturing Mr. Ollivander," he replied. "So, yes." He sat up and put his head in his shaking hands. She could tell he was embarrassed, so she made no move to comfort him further but merely sat next to him in the quiet of the summer night.

"You have to let them love you, you know," she finally said. When he frowned in confusion, Rose clarified. "The Weasleys, Remus, your friends, everyone in there. You want to leave because you love them, isn't that right?"

"Well, yeah," he muttered. Then he said in a more agitated voice, "They don't realize the danger they're in having me here. I'm a direct line to Voldemort."

"They are like your family. And I know Petunia and Vernon didn't exactly show you what it was like to have a family. But the love, it has to go both ways. If you're going to love people, there are times when you have to let them love you. Even when it's hard. Even when you're ashamed. That's what makes us different from Death Eaters. Sirius helped me understand that." He didn't respond, but she knew he was listening as he stared out at the night sky. "In a way, letting them take risks to protect you shows them you love them. It means you trust them."

When he didn't answer, she added gently, "You need to stay, _cher._ "

"I know," he said, a trifle peevishly. At that moment, Ron and Hemione came out from the house, hand in hand. Rose detached the edge of her robe from under Harry, and, nodding to Ron and Hermione, made her way back into the house for some firewhiskey. It had been a long night.

* * *

 _Rose had been wandering for what seemed like years through stone corridors and narrow staircases. Some of these resembled places she had known at Beauxbatons, while others were clearly Hogwarts. She was searching for something, though she had long forgotten what. Into rooms, then out again, she strolled restlessly through the dark and empty corridors, knowing she would never cease until she'd found whatever it was she sought._

 _In one dark room, finally, her consciousness recognized that she had arrived at her object. It was a tall, ancient-looking mirror, with clawed feet, framed in gold. Rose ignored the inscription on the mirror, staring instead into the picture it showed her. The version of herself she saw in the mirror looked lighter and much less careworn than the version her own mirror showed her each day. But what turned her gaze into a fixed stare was the man who stood next to her mirror-self._

 _Sirius looked healthy and hale, his beard and hair clean and trimmed neatly, his eyes flashing with their accustomed fire. He smiled a bit devilishly as he reached for the Rose in the mirror. His arms wrapped around her, and hers went around his waist. He whispered something in her ear, and Rose, who could not hear what he said, watched herself laugh, her mirror-self's eyes sparkling in response to his cheeky comment. Then, Sirius detached one of his arms from Rose and reached out for someone else. Harry had walked into the frame, and Sirius threw his arm around his godson's shoulders as Harry stood, grinning, his hands in his pockets. His face showed none of the signs of overwhelm, grief, anxiety, or exhaustion that she'd seen in it these past months._

 _The three of them stood together, arms around each other, for all the world like a family. Rose stared at them, entranced. She watched long enough to see that the sapphire ring which Sirius had given her was on her finger, along with a narrow silver band. Sirius' left hand, which was around her waist, also had a silver ring on the fourth finger._

 _The Rose who was looking at them from outside the mirror felt that she was nothing but longing from head to toe. Her hand lifted, seemingly of its own accord, until it was resting on the surface of the mirror. The Rose and Harry in the mirror did not seem to notice her. But then, the happy, smiling Sirius frowned._

 _He slowly looked away from those around him and down, until he was looking directly into_ _the eyes of the Rose outside the mirror_ _. For a moment, his expression changed. His eyes looked charged with intent, as if he was about to do or say something important. But instead of speaking, his hand reached out as if to meet her hand from the other side of the mirror. Just as their hands were about to meet,_

Rose's eyes opened. She had one look at the blank white ceiling of her flat, illuminated by the bright summer sun, before her face crumpled and the tears began to fall.

She'd had other dreams of Sirius, but none this vivid before. Usually he was simply part of her dream's story, usually laughing, sometimes alone in Grimmauld Place. But never had any of her dreams showed him to her as if he were anything more than a memory. For several minutes, she could do nothing but weep into her pillow.

When she had calmed herself to a degree, Rose considered what she had seen. She knew she had dreamed of the Mirror of Erised from Harry's description of it, though she had never seen it herself. She had looked at her heart's deepest desire, and seen the family she had hoped to make with Sirius, with Harry, for three people whose families had been lost to them. _This dream has told me two things_ , she told herself. _Sirius wants to reach me. He has something to say. Our future together is gone, but he would still ask something of me._

The second important detail, she was sure, was the presence of Harry. Harry, healthy and whole and safe, was something they had both wanted, more even than they wanted their own future together. She pulled her sheet up to her chin and looked at the pattern of light on the ceiling made by the sun coming through the curtains, and she thought about Harry as she had seen him last, five days before, on the night they had taken him from Privet Drive.

Ron and Hermione had calmed him considerably after his vision of Ollivander, and he had been sitting in the Weasleys' living room with a mug of tea when she had taken her leave of him. He had looked tired, though, and haunted, very different from the way he'd looked in her dream. When she arrived at The Burrow for his seventeenth birthday party that evening, she hoped she'd find him looking more like he'd looked during his visit to her flat at the beginning of the month.

They hadn't done very much in the city during that visit, for they were both extremely aware of the dangers that lurked everywhere outside magical protection. Most of the time they'd simply stayed in Rose's flat, eating, watching television, and playing occasional games on the pilfered PlayStation they'd brought with them from Privet Drive.

But they had taken one outing, during which Harry had looked almost as happy as she'd ever seen him, outside of the Quidditch pitch. They'd stayed in Muggle areas, hoping that they would be harder to notice or track there. After a trip to Rose's local coffee shop, they caught the Tube to Monument Station and strolled by the river. The Globe Theater had just reopened the month before, and on impulse, they had gone in to watch the early afternoon's performance of _Henry V,_ standing in the groundling area for the entire show. Harry had enjoyed it hugely, though he had not understood every line. He confessed to her afterwards that it was the first time he'd seen a play, which had caused a squeezing sensation in Rose's heart.

They wandered across the river then to St. Paul's, which was a favorite London haunt of Rose's. She loved the quiet, the sense of space and yet of privacy, the peace of the place. To her joy, Harry seemed to enjoy the atmosphere too, and they browsed there together in silence for nearly an hour. They stopped at a chip shop afterwards, and Harry had made her heart expand within her by saying, "This is probably the best day I've had when I wasn't either at Hogwarts or the Burrow. Thanks, Rose. Thanks a lot."

She had worried that it would be awkward, having her teenage nephew to stay at her flat, and worried, too, that he wouldn't enjoy himself without his friends around him. But he seemed to appreciate the quiet in her flat, and to be perfectly at his ease when he sat in her kitchen or occupied the sofa in front of her television. Tonks came by one night, and they'd watched music videos and laughed uproariously at Tonks' commentary on the current hits.

All in all, Rose thought she'd given him a respite from the burden of the Prophecy, a burden which had seemed to grow so much heavier since Dumbledore's death. She hoped very much he'd be able to take some enjoyment from his birthday party, and from Bill and Fleur's wedding the next day.

Rose arrived at The Burrow a couple of hours before dinner. She wanted to make sure she had the time to say what she felt she must say to Harry. But when she entered the kitchen after several voices had shouted for her to "Come in!" she found Bill, Fleur, Molly, and a young man Rose suspected to be Charlie Weasley, sitting in a chair in the middle of the kitchen and looking mildly chagrined. His hair, which was as brilliantly red as any of the rest of his family, looked freshly cut and brutally short. Molly was tucking her wand back into her sleeve, but when she saw Rose, her grim look turned to a welcoming smile.

"Rose, dear! So good to see you! I'm so glad you could make the party."

"I would hardly miss my nephew's seventeenth!" Rose exclaimed, returning Molly's smile and her hug. While their faces were close to one another, Molly spoke in her ear: "I'd like to have a word in the garden, if you don't mind."

Once they were out of anyone's hearing, Molly's face darkened. "I wonder if you would have a word with that nephew of yours, Rose. I can't get him to say what he's planning to do, but he's as good as admitted he's planning to drop out of Hogwarts, and Ron and Hermione too! I don't suppose you know where they're planning to go?"

"No," Rose could say, truthfully. "I do not."

"Well, no one wants to tell _me_ anything," she said, her voice a bit resentful. "I suppose it's because I'm _old_ , and Ron's mother, and young people never want to confide their plans to their parents. But you, Rose, you might have more success. You're so much closer to Harry's age, and I know he is fond of you."

"Harry loves you very much, Molly," Rose said, looking with conviction into Molly's troubled brown eyes. "Whatever his reasons are for not confiding in you, he thinks of you as a surrogate parent. I know he loves you."

"Well," Molly replied after a moment, blinking rapidly, "I'm sure I think of him as a member of our family too. I have for years. But you're his aunt, and not a parent, so maybe you can get it out of him. We just can't have them going off to who knows where at a time like this! Surely you agree?"

Rose's answer was carefully noncommittal. "I will see what he's willing to tell me. I want him to be safe more than I want anything, Molly."

"Of course you do! We all do!" Mrs. Weasley dabbed at her eyes with her apron, then cleared her throat. "You'll find him with Ron and Hermione in the sitting room. Why don't you try now, before the rest of the guests arrive?"

Only minutes later, Rose and Harry strolled through the garden, past the shed, and stopped by unspoken mutual consent before they could reach Sirius' memorial. "Now I think you can open your present," Rose told him, handing him the box she had taken from her handbag before they'd left the house. "I think you'll find them useful this year."

Inside, Harry found a pair of trainers made of a thick, dark green material. They were substantial, with rows of strong-looking grips on the soles, but lightweight and smooth. "They are for outdoor-type wizards who like to camp and hike," Rose told him, "Two occupations I know little about, of course. But Bill asked Charlie for me, for a recommendation. They're waterproof, too," she added.

"How do you always find the most brilliant things?" Harry asked, turning the shoes over in his hands in astonishment. "These are perfect. I don't know where we're going to be going, mind you, but they're going to be really handy."

"Yes, about that," Rose said quickly. "Listen, Harry, Mrs. Weasley wanted me to try to get you to tell me what your plans are from here. I'm not going to ask!" She assured him, holding up her hands, for he gave every sign of interrupting her at this. "But I just wanted to warn you, you need to be-"

"I know, I need to be careful. Because it's dangerous," he said, in a resigned voice that indicated that he may have had similar conversations already.

"I was going to say," Rose continued, after a pause, "that you need to be ready." He looked up at her in surprise.

"You need to be ready to make your escape at any time, Harry," she continued. "From everything I've seen at the Ministry, and heard from people who have been there every day, it could fall to Voldemort at any moment. Death Eaters have been spotted in the building more than once, there is ominous graffiti on the walls, and several Ministry officials are acting very strangely indeed. Rufus Scrimgeour doesn't go home anymore. He's taken to sleeping at The Ministry, and not because he's a workaholic. He's been threatened countless times. I've seen governments collapse before, Harry, and this one's collapse is imminent. Be. ready."

She looked him in the eye then, and found him looking back at her steadily. "I'll let Ron and Hermione know," he said. "Thank you. And if- if something happens, and we disappear, just- just know that it's because we've got to. And, try not to worry too much. And, you know, take care of yourself." He looked at his feet as he said this, which communicated his feelings to Rose more clearly than his words alone.

"I will," she replied. "And, here." She reached out and handed him a small card. "This is my address in Dalston. Since you've been to visit, Bill Weasley and Kingsley Shacklebolt have helped me to make it unplottable, and to hide it with the Fidelius Charm. Bill was already Secret-Keeper for Shell Cottage, his own home, so Kingsley has become Secret-Keeper for mine. Whether I am home or not, as long as you remember my address, you have somewhere safe to go. I think you know that we're not altogether sure about Grimmauld Place?"

Harry's face darkened. "Snape might be able to get in."

Rose nodded. "I think it is a question of when he already _did_ get in, and whether he is coming back. But, yes. The safety of Sirius' house is an open question right now."

He nodded. "Thanks, Rose. I'll memorize this, then," he said, gesturing with the card, but his voice sounded hard. The angry fire that came into Harry's eyes whenever someone maintained Severus Snape was flaring up. Rose hastily changed the subject.

"We'd better get back to your party. Molly wanted to have dinner soon, and I think-" her words were interrupted by a loud CRACK. Lupin and Tonks had just arrived, hand in hand, at the edge of the Weasleys' property.

* * *

Rose smoothed her robes and leaned forward, smiling politely at the elderly witch across from her.

"So you're the third Evans sister? Charmed, of course," the woman said, nodding once and adjusting her grip on her walking stick. "I'd heard that they'd sent you off to France, poor thing. Of course, it couldn't be helped. We were all in fear for our lives back then. Rather like now, really. But still. To take a good English girl and let her go and live in _France_ for the better part of her growing-up years, well!" She sniffed, and her beady eyes quickly darted toward the table where Fleur sat, smiling serenely, her hand resting on the hand of her new husband. "It isn't what one likes to see."

Rose kept her face pleasant as she answered, "Thank you for your concern! Let me assure you, though, that the education I received was quite competitive. My teachers, too, and the headmistress of Beauxbatons were were most encouraging and helpful."

"Oh, no one doubts the reputation of the school, Miss Evans. But the French simply are not a forthright people. One never can tell what a French person truly is, in my experience, until one has known them for years. Their culture is different, their values are different, and their politics are decidedly different from what one sees in England. Have you not noticed some very stark differences since you have been back among English wizards?"

"I have," Rose replied, still keeping her face at a rigid neutral despite her growing irritation. "I have certainly noticed the proclivity for bluntness in England. I have been happy to be home, Ma'am. But I must say that I have been quite tempted to return to my work for the French Ministry of late." This was not true. For all her fear and worry about the war and the tenuous state of the British Ministry, it had never once crossed Rose's mind to leave the country until the war was over and Harry was safe. But she was rapidly coming to the end of her patience for the ancient lady, whom she believed to be a relative of the Weasley family but who apparently had none of that family's warmth and good-humor.

The witch, however, looked at her sharply, then nodded again. "Well, Miss Evans, there is certainly some reason for that. Our Ministry has produced only a series of shocking failures for years. And that Cornelius Fudge, he's been an embarrassment since he took office. Still, Rufus Scrimgeour seems to have the right idea, now."

Rose smiled insincerely, but was saved the necessity of a reply. "Muriel! Come over here and look at what Elphias is wearing!" another aged witch in cranberry coloured robes cackled at them loudly. "He looks like a dervish!"

"Come on over here yourself, Agatha," Muriel returned, "I'm a hundred and seven. You're only a hundred and three, you can walk."

"Rosey. Would you dance?" a voice came behind her, and Rose turned in relief to see Remus reaching a hand for her. She took it, nodding to Muriel. "It has been a pleasure talking with you, Ma'am."

Muruel nodded back, but now seemed engrossed in trying to spot Elphias and his notorious clothing in the crowd.

"Tonks thought you might need rescuing," Remus explained, pulling Rose into position and beginning an easy swing step. "Muriel's conversation can be something of a trial, I believe."

"I was beginning to find it so, thank you," Rose told him. She looked around as they danced, smiling and waving at Tonks, who was talking to Molly Weasley, and stretching her neck to where she could just make out a tall, red-haired lad whom she knew to be Harry in Polyjuiced disguise. He was talking to a young man Rose had no trouble recognizing as Victor Krum. Rose wondered briefly whether Harry had revealed his identity to his old Tri-Wizard competitor, before returning her eyes to Remus.

His expression had gone oddly morose as he stared through the crowd at Tonks, but he looked back at Rose then and smiled. "Doing all right, Rose?" he asked her.

"Well enough," she answered. "Are _you_ quite well? You look-" _miserable,_ she thought, but she finished, "thoughtful."

"I'm fine, I'm fine. A bit tired. More than a bit worried about the state of things. But I'm all right," he assured her, a bit too heartily, she thought. "I'm sure I'm not the one you'd like to be dancing with," he added, smiling at her a bit sadly. "But I do like to see you."

Rose's mind flashed briefly to Sirius, to his easy grace on the dance floor, his flashing eyes, and the smell of him whenever he pulled her a little closer to him. She swallowed. "I miss him, of course," she answered, honestly. "He'd have loved this."

"He would," Remus agreed, leading Rose skillfully away from a tent post without missing a beat. "He'd likely be both out-drinking me and and out-dancing me by now."

"I think I can remember something of that from Lily and James' wedding. Didn't he give a speech that lasted thirty minutes while wearing a magenta witch's hat with a short veil and cause Lily to wee herself laughing?"

"How do you remember that?" Remus laughed. "That was 18 years ago! You were a child!"

"One doesn't forget a speech like that!" she insisted. "I was horribly embarrassed for Lily. But I have no problem admitting to you that I had a young girl's fancy for Sirius Black, who danced so well."

"Wartime weddings tend to be the most memorable," Remus observed. "You're an excellent dancer, Rosey," he added, when the song came to a close, "But I need to get back to my wife. I'll see you soon."

They parted ways then, and Rose went and poured herself a glass of punch, mostly to pass the time. She kept stealing glances over at Harry-in-disguise. In front of her, Ron and Hermione were swaying, arms around each other, not exactly in time with the music but looking very pink-cheeked and happy, nevertheless. The song which had just begun was slower, a love song with a layer of melancholy in the chords, and she found herself suddenly fighting tears. She put down the punch, thinking that the alcohol was to blame for bringing her closer to the breakdown she had been fighting all day, when she turned at a tap on her shoulder.

Charlie Weasley stood before her, grinning sheepishly. "Hullo. Mum's just informed me that I can't just sit in the corner and drink all day. So. Dance with me? I'm not great shakes, but I can tell you are."

It was not the most winning proposition Rose had ever heard, but she found herself saying, "Certainly, Charlie. That sounds lovely." _How can this honest, humble young man could be related to that lace-trimmed cow at the table?_ she wondered, as he led her through the tables to the dance floor again.

Charlie was not, as he said, a very skilled dancer, but he was enthusiastic. After the first, slow dance (during which Charlie led her in a high energy and rhythmically inappropriate waltz), the music shifted into a higher tempo. She was soon grinning broadly at his antics; he would break away, fling his own body dramatically through space, then catch Rose back into his arms and spin them until her laughter bubbled up uncontrollably.

At one point, they were turned such that she could see Harry, still in disguise, sitting with both Muriel and and old wizard wearing a fez. She only had a moment to wonder whether this was the "dervish" which the old witch had been referring to, before Charlie swung her around again with such energy that her feet momentarily left the ground. When the song ended, she shook Charlie's hand. "Thank you. I needed cheering up, I'm afraid."

"Not a problem. Thank you, for giving me a few minutes away from Mum's excessive concern for my liver," he responded, laughing. She was just about to suggest that they go over and join Tonks and Remus, whom she could see sitting over to her right, when a hush came over the guests and she spun around just in time to see a silvery lynx open its mouth.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

It spoke with Kingsley's voice, though the words came faster than Kingsley's usual speed. There was a silence at first. Just before pandemonium broke out, though, Remus' voice rang out. "Shield charms!" he cried, and Tonks, beside him, shouted "Protego!" Several guests next to them took up the cry, and Rose was about to join them when her eyes landed on Ron Weasley.

He was dashing around, frantic, knocking into people without apologizing, clearly searching for Hermione and Harry. Having just seen Hermione heading toward the table where Harry had been sitting, Rose pushed her way to him and grabbed his arm. "Ron. They're there!" she pointed, he looked and then suddenly, Hermione was before her, holding onto the red-haired lad who was Harry.

The red-haired lad looked at her for a moment, Harry's expression of alarm on the lad's florid face. Hermione had seized Ron's hand and was reaching for Harry, but he was still looking at Rose, clearly struggling between warring impulses.

"Go, darling!" Rose urged. "We'll hold them off!"

And he nodded, and took Hermione's outstretched hand, and was gone.

And then the Death Eaters were there, and people were Disapparating all around her. Rose felt no inclination, herself, to leave the tent. She was suddenly sparking with fury.

"First a school, now a wedding? You're so brave in an ambush, aren't you?" she taunted. "There you are, _sans-couilles!"1_ The Death-Eater fell when her stunning spell struck his chest. She spun around and threw a hex at another Death-Eater who was taking aim at Molly Weasley.

A voice behind her shouted, "Take that, you cowardly knob!"

She spun to find Muriel laying out a Death Eater who had apparently been in the act of sending a curse at Rose. She soon found herself back to back with the old lady, who turned out to be quite a fierce fighter in a pinch. They fought their way out of the tent, where they could see guests fighting or Disapparating, and still more Death Eaters were arriving. One masked man lifted his arms.

"We don't want to hurt anyone," he proclaimed, his message slightly thrown into doubt by the fact that many of his colleagues were engaged in duels with wedding guests. "We only want to know where Potter is. We know you have him here."

But no one stopped fighting, or Disapparating.

"Runcorn. These aren't the robes you wear at the Ministry," Arthur Weasley's voice came from the tent opening.

"They'll have a lot easier time believing you if you call off your attack dogs, Runcorn," Bill Weasley shouted, between firing spells at two different masked men.

"ENOUGH!" The large man called Runcorn called, and the Death Eaters all went slack. This didn't stop Muriel from throwing a full-body bind at the man she had been fighting. "Don't cooperate with him, Arthur!" she bellowed, before Disapparating with a crack.

"Harry isn't here," Arthur told Runcorn, his wand still drawn. "You can search the house."

"I think we'll do that," Runcorn agreed, and he strode into the house with purpose. The other Death Eaters followed, some of them warily looking over their shoulders at the remaining guests. Rose decided then and there not to leave the family until the Death Eaters did. Nothing stopped her from Disapparating; it was evident from the disappearance of most of the wedding guests that the protective enchantments surrounding the Weasleys' house had been broken.

But not only was she worried for the family whose home the Death Eaters would shortly be ransacking, she also feared that if she left now, one of them would find a way to track her to her flat. She simply couldn't risk the security of her flat, in case Harry should want to use it. _He might be there now_ , she realized, a thought which made her blood run through her veins like ice.

When they reached the house, the Weasley family, minus Ron, had assembled in the garden. Arther was opening the door to the Death Eater called Runcorn, while Molly hung back with the younger Weasleys. She looked incensed and agitated, shifting her weight from one foot to another and constantly turning her gaze from her children to her husband. Bill stepped forward.

"I'll go in with Dad," he told his mother. When Fleur inhaled audibly and scowled at him, he kissed her swiftly. "They're trying to keep some credibility; they don't want open war yet. It'll be all right. And if it isn't," he said, looking grim, "We'll send them packing."

He strode off and followed his father and the Death Eaters into the house to supervise the search for Harry. The rest stayed in the garden, trying to pretend they didn't hear the sounds of heavy tramping feet and occasional crashes that came from the house. Charlie kicked at the garden wall several times, earning him glares from Mrs. Weasley, and finally stumped off back in the direction of the tent. The twins joined him and together, the brothers went to work at cleaning up the debris from the attack. Ginny stayed with her mother, and Rose stayed with Fleur, none of them able to take their eyes from the house.

They waited a long time.

The three Weasley brothers had effectively dismantled the entire wedding, setting aside the gifts and the food, by the time the Death Eaters had concluded that Harry was not hiding in any part of the house. But just when Molly had begun to huff about finally being allowed to live in her house again, Runcorn announced that they would each be questioned, one at a time, in the kitchen. Everyone else was to remain in the garden.

They took Fleur first, either because they fancied her a weak link in the family front, or because none of them seemed to be able to stop leering at her. Fleur was imperious and straight-backed as she walked into the house, throwing off the hand of the Death Eater who was attempting to drag her there. "'Ow kind of you to call so unexpectedly," she said coldly to the Death Eater who walked with her. "Pair'aps I could interest you in some of my wedding cake?"

When she returned, she grimaced at Rose. " _Cochons. Je ne leur ai rien dit."2_

Then they called for Rose. _They must think Fleur and I are the most likely ones to tell what we know. I wonder if they even know who I am,_ Rose thought as she followed the taciturn Death Eater who had motioned to her. Over her shoulder, Rose heard Fleur call to her. " _Te laisse pas emmerder!"3_ and despite her pounding heart, Rose smiled a little.

They kept her only a quarter of an hour, but it felt much longer. Over and over, in every way possible, they asked: "Where is Harry Potter? Who is he with? Where would he go? Where did you last see him?"

Rose had gathered fairly early on that these men did not, indeed, know who she was. They had heard her speaking French with Fleur, however, so Rose decided to attempt to throw off further suspicion by aping the French accent she had used with Umbridge.

"I 'ave not seen 'arry Potter, _non_ ," she told them, over and over. "Pair'aps ee is with 'iz family." These sorts of remarks seemed to convince them over time that she was only a friend of Fleur's, and knew nothing of Harry Potter's story, let alone his whereabouts. In time, they let her out.

When she'd been released to the garden and the Death Eaters had called for Bill, Rose saw Tonks among the assembled Weasleys. She was sitting in a garden chair next to Molly, who was patting her pack soothingly. She looked pale.

"Why have you come back?" Rose asked her, though she knew her voice betrayed how glad she was to see her friend.

"Oh, we never left," Tonks assured her. "We were just keeping to the perimeter, keeping an eye on things and making sure they didn't try anything sneaky. I wouldn't put it past this lot to burn the place down in temper. 'Don't want to hurt anyone,'" she imitated sarcastically. "My arse." She folded her arms and hugged herself; she seemed to be either very cold or very tired.

"Where's Remus?" Rose asked, squatting next to Tonks and looking at her face closely.

"He's helping Arthur to put the tent away," she answered, leaning forward with a grimace.

"Are you poorly?" Rose asked her quietly.

"No. Well, I mean, yes-and. It's nothing contagious," she added, with a short laugh.

"What's the matter? And can you tell me why Remus seemed so miserable at the wedding, before any of this happened?"

"I expect he's just worried," Tonks replied, after a moment. "You see," looking up at Rose abruptly, "I'm pregnant."

1 "no-balls"

2 "Swine. I told them nothing."

3 "Don't take any shit!"


	40. Third Flower Chapter 41

**Chapter 41: Scarification**

 **A.N. Dates: We open at the end of the wedding, which was August 1. Tonks shows up after Rose attends church on Sunday, August 3rd. Rose goes to Grimmauld, and then to North Yorkshire, on Monday evening. She dreamwalks on August 6th.**

 **Harry, Ron, and Hermione drop by on September 3rd and 4th, 1997. Readers will recognize a great deal of the dialogue in the last section from Chapter 15 of Deathly Hallows. I decided to incorporate this conversation into their visit, because that is what they would have been discussing at that point in their quest. DH readers will know what brought the Death Eaters to Rose's door.**

It was late into the night before Rose felt safe to return to her flat. Bill and Fleur had departed for Shell Cottage, Remus and Tonks had returned to Tonks' flat, and Molly was looking very much as if she'd benefit from having her kitchen to herself by the time Rose announced that she would be on her way. Despite the Patronus Bill had sent, communicating that he and Fleur had arrived safely and that the Fidelius Charm had not been breached, Rose was afraid to return to London. Partly, she knew, she simply dreaded being alone. And whether or not Harry, Ron, and Hermione had decided to take shelter there, she had a superstitious fear that somehow, Death Eaters would be able to follow her there.

Still, after Arthur's third yawn and Molly's second suggestion that she spend the night, Rose declined the invitation, said goodnight to the pair of them, hugged Ginny, and walked out into the night to the Apparition point. She Apparated into the garden behind her flat, and looked up at her bedroom window for signs of people inside. All was dark and still. Her heart pounded as she climbed the stairs to her door, and she hesitated briefly before turning the key and opening the door.

Silence.

Rose shut the door behind her, still in a light sweat, and lit her wand. "Hello?" she called once or twice, and carried her lit wand from room to room, turning on light switches and searching every corner of the place. When she'd finished searching the guest room, she finally concluded that she was alone.

Nevertheless, she could not shake the eerie sense of dread that night. Rose was normally very comfortable being by herself. She cherished the quiet, the sense of not being observed, and the lack of social demands in her solitary flat. But after the attack at the wedding, and knowing that the Ministry of Magic had finally fallen to Voldemort, Rose found the silence in her flat to be a horror. It was a long time before she was able to sleep.

Saturday was a very long day. Rose's sleep was disturbed, but once morning dawned she was able to sleep for several hours into the day. She had enough groceries in the flat for breakfast, but when lunch came, she called her favourite takeout restaurant and ordered curry to be delivered. For the whole of that silent day she did not leave the flat.

On Sunday, she woke and knew she would have to go out, if for no other reason than to buy more milk and eggs. She was also dangerously low on tea, so after eating the last of the eggs and toast, Rose put on a simple Muggle dress, braided her hair neatly, and left, with her wand in her pocketbook.

Once she left, she found her anxiety significantly diminished. Now that she was away from the eerie silence of her flat and out into the muggy warmth of an August morning in London, she remembered that the Fall of the Ministry would not have shut down Muggle society, or indeed, have any impact at all on most Muggles' awareness. She was nearly at the small grocery store when her attention was diverted by the sound of church bells. On impulse, Rose suddenly turned off of her course and climbed the stone steps into the nave.

Like most churches of its era, this one was dimly lit, with a high ceiling and stiff rows of pews. Rose was no stranger to churches. She'd not been raised religious, but she'd always had a fascination with religion, a fascination that was part intellectual curiosity and part aesthetic attraction. Rose gazed at the statue of the Madonna as the rector's homily meandered gently away from its intended message, which was all about loving one's enemy. _It's all very well to talk of it,_ she thought, addressing the Madonna's placid face. In the shadows of the church, clutching the infant in its arms, the statue reminded her of Lily. _Loving enemies. But in real life it only puts more innocent people at risk. Harry, for instance.. . . . Harry was saved by love, but not love for Voldemort. No, it was Lily's love for him which saved him, not love for her enemy._ Rose considered what she could remember from _Secrets of the Darkest Art. He'd have to feel remorse in order for love to do him any good, anyway. Tom Riddle himself has closed that door._

When the service ended, Rose departed without speaking to anyone. She greatly appreciated that Church of England rectors seemed perfectly content to let her attend the occasional mass in privacy and anonymity, unlike the French priest in Cauterets, who had always made it a point to interrogate her at every visit. All in all, Rose felt pleased with herself for attending the service. It had cleared her head, and sharpened her focus. She carried out the grocery trip with purpose and was home before lunch-time.

Her flat was illuminated with the sunshine that had managed to break through that afternoon, and she was feeling decidedly more secure in her solitude when all at once there was a knock at her door.

The whole weekend had been so reminiscent of the days following Sirius' death that Rose half expected it to be Remus at the door again, coming to offer her news and comfort as he had done the summer before. But it was not Remus. Tonks stood at the door to Rose's flat, her neon orange bathrobe not quite concealing a yellow Eastenders tee shirt and plaid pajamas.

Her expression, however, was not nearly as bright as her clothing, and Tonks' hair was once again mousy and colourless. Rose let her in without a word, and in minutes they were sipping tea in her kitchen. They sat in silence at first, until Tonks spoke.

"Well. He's gone."

"Remus is gone?" Rose's eyebrows shot up.

Tonks gave a confirming nod and sipped her tea. Her eyes looked glassy and red-rimmed.

"Did you quarrel?" Rose asked gently.

"Well, I disagreed with him rather loudly, if that counts!" Tonks said with a bitter laugh. "He didn't do me the favor of arguing back. He said he'd given it a lot of thought, and he reckoned both of us, me and the baby, would be better off without a werewolf in the house."

"Oh Tonks, not again!" groaned Rose. "I thought he'd gotten past that line of thinking."

"Well, now the Ministry's overthrown, they're cracking down on Muggle-borns and Blood Traitors, and now there's a baby involved, I guess all bets are off." Tonks twisted her wedding ring distractedly on her finger as she spoke. "I'm to go to my parents' and not look for him. And frankly, I'm not in the mood to begin a search," she added, scowling.

"He didn't tell you where he'd be going?" Tonks shook her head. Rose considered. "Where would he go . . . not the camp again, surely?"

"I don't think so. He knows his name's mud, there. Besides, I think he's going to try to avoid going anywhere I might look. No, I think he'll be trying to blend in, or taking on some solo suicide mission out of some misplaced sense of nobility. Or, he'll tell himself it's nobility. But it's cowardice, Rose, that's all it is. He'd rather let some Death Eater kill him, or let Fenrir find him, than do what really scares him: stand by his wife and raise his kid." Rose realized as she watched Tonks' face that she'd misjudged her mood. Tonks seemed limp, dejected, apparently miserable, but her words now were animated by cold fury.

"I know he expects me to try to find him, but I've had it, Rose. I'm not doing it this time. I'm not begging him to come home. I'm not living on my knees anymore. He's made his choice."

"I can certainly understand that." Rose spoke softly, but her heart broke to see the hard look in Tonks' eyes. Never had she looked like that before while speaking of Remus.

Tonks stayed for bacon sandwiches, and for a while they sat on Rose's couch together in the afternoon, talking of the war, the Ministry, and Tonks' pregnancy.

"I reckon I'm about five weeks gone, now. Mum's insisting I quit the Ministry, and normally I'd argue with her on principle. But the Ministry's gone mental. They're completely hostile to anyone with Muggle ancestry, however distant, and I'm on Auntie Bellatrix's hit list anyway. I'm planning to focus on just Order work, now. Maybe I'll see you at the Burrow next week?"

"Certainly, you will," Rose replied, and was surprised at the confidence in her own voice. When she'd returned to her flat after the wedding, she had felt directionless and uncertain of everything. But Tonks' arrival, combined with the hour of quiet in the Muggle church that morning had returned Rose's conviction to her. Of course, she would fight. Of course, she would attend the Order's next meeting. Nothing had really changed, after all, except the raising of the stakes.

Tonks left before dinner for her mother's home. "Come and see me," she insisted before she opened the door to go. "Don't be alone if you don't want to be, all right?" Rose promised that she would come to visit before the next Order meeting the following Friday. And then Tonks was gone.

For the rest of the day, and all day Monday, Rose stayed in her neighbourhood and thought. She tried to put herself in Remus' mind and consider where he might go. But the more she did, the more she shared Tonks' conviction that wherever he had gone, it would not be anywhere anyone would think to look. Late Monday night, however, Rose was remembering Tonks' other words, saying Remus was likely to take on a suicide mission fraught with danger as a way of justifying himself. And suddenly, she knew where she wanted to look.

Ever since he left the wedding, Rose had thought it unlikely that Harry would be in Grimmauld Place. She felt sure that Hermione, at least, would counsel against it, and she hoped Harry's sense of caution would be able to overcome his desire to revenge himself on Severus Snape. But for anyone looking for Harry Potter, Grimmauld Place would be high on the list of places to look.

Rose had not wanted to pursue Harry; she had promised, after all, to let him complete his quest on his own. _But Remus made no such promise,_ Rose realized. _Helping Harry on his quest, however little Remus knows about it, might be just the sort of suicide mission Remus is looking for._ And, she reasoned, to Remus, the scheme would have the advantage of allowing him to help James' son, to be at the very center of the effort against Voldemort. Rose remained one more minute, thinking, sitting very straight in her kitchen chair, before jumping to her feet, tucking her wand into her sleeve, and leaving her flat.

The sun had set, but the sky outside Grimmauld Place was still brilliantly red. Rose had Apparated onto the top step, as had become her habit, so that she was within the boundaries of the enchantments on the place from the moment of her appearance. One glance around her affirmed this choice, for right across the road, squinting at the space between numbers 11 and 13, were two robed Death Eaters. Rose stood extremely still. Within the house, she could make out raised voices, of which one was definitely Harry's. Her heart raced, and she had her hand on the doorknob when there was a loud bang, and the sound of approaching feet.

Then the door flew open and Remus himself stepped out. He was breathing hard, and he slammed the door behind him as if in anger. Then his eyes fell on Rose, and he changed color. His flush became pale, and his eyes widened. She saw him grip his wand and take a step back, and knew what he was about to do before he did it. When Remus turned on the spot, Rose's hand had clamped onto his arm, and together they pressed into the darkness of Apparition.

They arrived a few seconds later on the coarse sand of a northern beach. Remus immediately shook off Rose's hand and ran his hands through his hair as he backed away.

"Rosey. I do wish you'd leave me alone just now. I am not- I need- I can't-" he struggled to form a sentence, his eyes wild.

"I know you want to be alone. And I may be able to do that, let you alone, but I must be satisfied about some things first, Remus. Please," she insisted. He looked on the verge of arguing, but he caught her eye and visibly deflated.

"Well," was all he said, but he stopped his agitated motion on the sand.

"Where are we?" she asked him first.

"Ravenscar," he told her. "North Yorkshire. I have a cottage here."

She gave a single nod, then asked what was to her the most pressing question: "Is Harry all right? And Ron, Hermione-?"

"All fine," he replied, though something in his eyes flashed when she'd said Harry's name. "They've been staying at Grimmauld Place almost since they left the wedding, and no one has intruded upon them. That is, besides me. As it turns out, my intrusion was- unwelcome." His mouth was a hard line as he said this.

"Do you know if they are planning to stay at Grimmauld for the present?"

"For the present, I think they are." He still seemed very impatient to go away from her, so Rose took another step towards him. Remus' usual gentle demeanour when he spoke to her was now only in his voice; the expression of his face and the attitude of his body was all restless ferocity. His hair stuck up at odd angles, probably as a result of his hands' frantic combing motions. Did she not know him so well, his expression would have frightened her.

"Where are you going to go?" she asked him in a level voice.

He shook his head like a dog trying to clear water from its ears. "I- I do not know. I just, I need to go. I need to get away, Rose. Please let me. I'm afraid that-"

"Go," she told him. "Have a walk. But I'm not leaving, Remus. I won't tell Tonks where you are. I won't drag you to her. But I won't let you throw yourself in the sea, either." He looked inclined to throw himself from one of the nearby cliffs, instead, but after meeting her eyes for a moment, he tore his hand through his hair again and gave one abrupt nod. Then he strode away from her at a driving pace.

Rose stayed on the beach for over half an hour, watching Remus striding over the sand and across stretches of rocks. Sometimes he climbed onto the grassy hillside, sometimes he would disappear between ridges in the landscape. But always she would make him out, growing smaller and smaller, returning to the water. In time, though, he turned a corner around a cliff and was lost to her view.

The sun was then quite low in the sky; it was past suppertime. Rose decided to risk a trip to the village, where she bought sandwiches at the local tearoom. Then she returned to the rocky beach to which Remus had first brought them, sat down on a likely enough looking rock, and spread out the food.

The sun was down and the stars beginning to appear when Remus emerged from around the other side of the cliff. His hair was still wild, and his unbuttoned robes flapped in the wind, but his face, though troubled, was less wild than before. He hesitated when he saw her, but when she held out a sandwich without speaking, he came, took it, and sat down. They ate in silence.

"Have you told Tonks that you're safe?" Rose asked him when they had finished.

He shook his head. "She- she doesn't want to hear from me." His voice sounded rough.

"No, she doesn't," Rose agreed. His eyebrows went up, but she continued. "But you should still tell her you're all right. I can't send a Patronus, and if I Owl her from my flat, she'll probably show up there."

He seemed to consider this for a moment. Then, he drew his wand, but almost immediately he put his hand down again. "I- I don't think I can just now."

"Well, I'm the last person who could judge you for that," she said. There was silence again for the span of a minute. Remus stared out at the sea.

"Where is your cottage?" Rose said, breaking the silence. The sea was beautiful, but the rock upon which they sat was growing uncomfortable, and now that the sun was down, the breezes felt more cold than refreshing.

"It is beyond the village," he motioned behind them. "I've had it since I left school. I lived there until I taught at Hogwarts. But I'm rarely there now."

"Do you want to stay there now?"

"It would probably be best if I did."

"But do you _want_ to stay there, Remus?"

He leaned back onto his elbows while he considered this. In the darkness, his exact expression was hard to read. "I want to be someone else," he said softly.

"Well, you're the only one that wants that," she told him flatly. "So I ask you, do you _want_ to stay at your cottage? Or can I prevail upon you to come and stay with me? If it were very temporary, perhaps, and if I promised not to tell anyone where you are?"

He sighed. "That's very kind," he began, and then stopped.

"'But'?" she prompted him.

"Rosey, I can't be a guest right now. I couldn't bear it. I need to earn something, DO something, for once, do something of value to someone."

"When you are more yourself," Rose told him, "I will explain to you just how absurd those words are. But in any case, I would make you earn your keep, by helping me."

A faint smile reached his lips. "You need me to make you eggs again?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind. Your eggs are legendary. But that isn't exactly what I had in mind." She wiped at her lips with the napkin, then crumpled it into the aluminum foil which had held her sandwich. "Have you ever heard of dreamwalking, Remus?"

* * *

Rose did not attempt a dreamwalk that night, nor the night after. Both she and Remus were in need of a rest. The morning after they Apparated to her flat and settled Remus in the guest room with the clothes they had brought from his cottage, Rose Owled worst outcome, she thought, would be if Tonks came by her flat unannounced. _He would surely run again,_ she thought, _and this time no one will be able to find him._ So she neglected to mention that Remus was staying with her, choosing instead to write, _I saw him yesterday. He is safe. And he is thinking._ And that was all.

They spent two days in relative quiet, reading, cooking and eating simple meals, and twice, walking in the nearby garden park. Their conversation was only of practical things: what to eat, who would cook, how Rose liked her eggs, whether the weather would hold up long enough to go to the garden. Of Tonks, the baby, the war, and Harry, they spoke not at all. Though she would have welcomed such conversations, Rose did not attempt to force one. She felt that ultimately, she knew what Remus was struggling to accept, and he knew perfectly well how she felt about it. There was simply nothing to say.

The moon was now several days past new, so Rose knew there was a possibility of interference in her dreamwalking attempt. But she wanted to make another effort at her project while Remus was there, so on the third night of his stay, Rose went to bed early. Before she lay down, as before, she created the compass on her bed, and spent a few minutes paging through her photographs. Remus, as they'd agreed, was in the guest room, but he planned to look in on her after thirty minutes had passed. When she looked long and hard at the photograph of James, holding Harry, with his arm around the 10-year-old Rose, she lay down and began to meditate.

 _James had been tall as long as she'd known him, and because she was herself so small at the time, he'd seemed all the taller. He was angular too, always seeming barely out of his last adolescent growth spurt. Like Sirius, James had never seemed to be able to sit still. When he sat, his foot tapped restlessly, and when he spoke, his arms and hands flew._

 _Rose pictured him at her parents' dining room table where she'd first met him, grinning at her with dancing eyes when she'd discovered that he was the reason her pudding was floating over her head. She imagined James flipping pancakes for Lily and whistling; she pictured him laughing with his friends, throwing his arms around Sirius, talking earnestly with Remus. Her mind roved over other images: James throwing the invisibility cloak over both of their shoulders before they left for her ballet lessons; James holding Lily in his arms in the lead-up to Harry's birth, stroking her back; James holding Harry, just after he emerged, with a look of utter astonishment and joy on his face._

Rose continued to think about James until she felt herself growing sleepy. " _Somnio_ ," she whispered, and then all was changed. She could move through the silvery web in three dimensions; nodes shone brightly, though not (as she later reflected, probably due to the presence of a sliver of moon) as brightly as they had before. But still, it was a navigable web, and Rose seemed to glide through it without effort.

She wandered for a long time. The part of her that was capable of thinking was beginning to do a thing like wondering whether Tom Riddle was indeed asleep. She kept pushing her intention outward, searching, while holding the picture of James Potter in the center of her intention.

After what seemed a long time, Rose found the node of eerie, faintly green light which she knew to be Tom Riddle's consciousness. She entered it, despite the obvious hostility emanating from the center.

 _Hello, Tom._ It first shrank from her intrusion, then lashed out with a flash of energy. She ignored its protestations.

 _Have you considered James Potter lately? Only one of your many victims, one whose death gave you especial satisfaction. I suppose you thought you were about to achieve your ultimate victory. And defeat waited for you in the form of a toddler in a crib._

 _James Potter defied you to your face three times. But he really defied you in every choice he made. He refused to hate Muggles and Muggle-Borns. He refused to use his pureblood privilege to make life hard for people who didn't have it. James won all his teachers' respect with his talent; I still hear them speak of him at Hogwarts as one of the greatest wizards of his generation. And James opposed Death Eaters wherever he found them._

 _You saw fit that James should die to feed your ambition and smooth your path to domination. Did you know the man you killed so thoughtlessly that day? James was a father, a husband, a son, and unlike you, he had real friends, friends who would die for him. Do you have a single friend whose loyalty is that sincere? Ah, no. You have only those you have taught to fear you more than they desire freedom from you._

 _Look at him . . . see his face. James Potter, whom you killed. Look at him and see if you can feel anything of remorse, anything of humanity. In that lies your one hope, Tom Riddle, because James' son will finish you. And what will be your fate then?_

Rose withdrew as the node flashed with helpless rage. She leaned away from his energy, and, with an effort, squeezed the hand which contained the magically maintained lump of ice, burning through its cooling charm so that it began to melt on her hand. As she had hoped, the sensation brought her back to consciousness and she gasped upon opening her eyes to a scene which at first made no sense. It was much too bright, too warm, too filled with movement and emotion.

The face before her was familiar and yes, it was Remus, and she was Rose, and she was back. And then his words began to make sense to her.

"Rosey. Can you hear me? Are you all right? Rose?"

"'M okay, Remus," she managed to say, and he sat back, relief on his face.

"I've heard of the practice of dreamwalking, of course, but of all the fool things James and Sirius and I got up to at school, none of us ever considered actually trying that." He looked pale, but calm now. "What did you do?"

"I told Tom Riddle about James," Rose said simply. "I made him understand exactly who he killed that day." Remus' eyes widened.

"Rose," he hesitated. "I hope you know what you're doing here. I know you're angry about all that he's done. We all are. But to take an action that may provoke him to seek you out, it just does not seem . . ."

"I need to do it," she told him firmly, and Remus went silent. But his expression remained skeptical.

"I need to do it for Harry's sake, not for his," Rose explained. She had not articulated this to anyone before, but she felt conviction in her purpose grow as she spoke. "Tom Riddle is doomed, Remus. He is. I do not know who else he might harm or kill before his doom comes to him, but he is doomed, and Harry will be the one to finish him. I am sure of it. But what he has done to preserve himself can be undone if he should happen to feel remorse. I do not believe he will be brought to any kind of remorse," she said quickly, as his expression became more skeptical still. "I think he is beyond that. But there will come a time when Harry will be ready to strike him, ready to end it. And mark me, if I know him, Harry will feel pity for Tom Riddle. I want Harry to know, whether before he finishes him, or after, that Riddle was given a chance. That he chose not to undo the terrible damage he's done to himself, and thus, his fate was inevitable. I want Harry to have that peace, Remus," she told him, earnestly.

And after a moment's silence, she added, "And I don't mind at all that he hates what I am making him see."

Remus gave a quiet laugh, and his expression changed to one of admiration. "Well," he said, "I still don't think this is exactly necessary. But, you may be right about Harry. It's how James would have felt. And Harry's . . . Harry's got good instincts. He's more like James than I want him to be, in truth."

When Rose frowned, Remus explained. "When I saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione at Grimmauld Place, I offered to join them on their quest. I still don't know what it is, but I was sure I could be of help to them. And I wanted . . . I wanted to do something that seemed to matter, the more dangerous the better. And the truth is," he looked pained, but persisted, "the truth is that it was because I was ashamed."

"Ashamed of your lycanthropy?"

"No. I was ashamed that I was too much of a coward to stay with Tonks, and be a father to my own child. I feared that I would have to see, every month, my own child suffering what I suffer, and I couldn't bear it."

Rose put her hand on his hand as he struggled to control his face. He did not meet her eyes, but squeezed her hand gratefully. "What did Harry do that was like James?" she reminded him gently.

"He called me out on my cowardice. Refused to let me join him, and said James would be ashamed of me." Rose knew her shock showed on her face. "He did not mince words. But, he was right. I think I knew he was right even as he said it. I just didn't want him to be. We had some angry words and . . . I may have pushed him against the wall, with a spell I wasn't aware I was using. I am not proud of it."

Rose kept hold of her friend and surrogate brother's hand throughout this confession. "It sounds to me as if you both lost your tempers," she ventured to him, but he shook his head.

"It's taken me two days to come to this conclusion. But, he was entirely justified. And nothing but the strongest language from him would have made me come to terms with myself."

Neither of them could have slept, then, so Rose mixed up some batter for crêpes, and Remus fried them, patiently tilting the pan in a way Rose could never have equaled. They ate comfortably, and talked at last of the war, of Harry's mission, and of Tonks.

"She was so happy," Remus said when the subject came up. "When the potion turned and she knew she was pregnant, she was _so_ happy. As rubbish as she felt. She was actually singing minutes after she finished vomiting. It was The Cure. But, it was singing," he said with a shaky laugh. "But all I felt was the cold weight of dread. And now, I've ruined her happiness."

"Oh, honestly, Remus, what would Marcus Aurelius say? _Nihil desperandum,_ surely."

"No," Remus said, and when she sighed in exasperation, he added, "That was Horace."

Rose threw a dish towel at him.

In the morning, Remus fried eggs, and they drank tea in meditative quiet. When he had done the dishes, Remus went back into the guest room, while Rose turned on the radio and tried to find a station that would tell her anything of substance about the state of things in the Wizarding world. But before she could find anything but static, Remus reappeared. He had his small, shabby suitcase in his hand.

"I'm going back to her," he told Rose, who only nodded.

"I know," she said. She embraced him, and he was gone in another minute.

* * *

There was no question of Rose's returning to Hogwarts as a teacher, or in any capacity, that September. Remus' description only confirmed what she had already suspected: Muggle-borns would not be welcome in the new regime. They were already being hunted and persecuted at every outpost of the Wizarding world. "I wouldn't so much as go into Diagon Alley, if I were you, Rosey," Remus had advised her, and she'd agreed wholeheartedly. Being interrogated or arrested merely for being a Muggle-born witch did not seem a good use of her time.

Rose became more and more thankful that she'd had the sense to take a flat on the Muggle side of town. Withdrawing the rent money from her vault at Gringotts, then changing it to Muggle money might have been a problem, had Sirius not left her, in addition to many galleons in the bank, a good deal of cash as well. Rose had only to ask Arthur Weasley to help her change her money and she was able to pay a year's rent with one lump sum.

 _Next year_ , she thought as she returned from paying her rent that month, _if the war isn't over, I will decide what to do with the flat._ But for now, she was simply glad to have somewhere to call home, somewhere that felt safe, for as many months as possible.

She was quite glad she was beforehand with the rent a few weeks later when, early in the morning on a Wednesday in early September, there came a muted knock at her door. She went to the door, and uttered a quiet, "Hello?"

"It's us," came a voice that, even in its near-whisper, Rose had no trouble identifying as Harry's.

She opened the door the inch or two the chain would allow. "What is our favourite game to play on Playstation?"

"Motor Toon Grand Prix," came Harry's voice immediately, and she quickly unchained the door. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were emerging from the invisibility cloak on the other side of the door. She hurried them in and hugged Harry, who came in last and who hugged her back with more fervor than usual.

They looked decidedly worse for wear. All three had a look of hunger and exhaustion about them. Though they were not exactly dirty, none of them looked completely clean, and Ron was worst of all: his arm was tied in a makeshift sling and there were bandages on his shoulders. There were also circles under his eyes.

" _Mon Dieu!"_ Rose cried at the sight of them. "Are you all right? What's happened to Ron?"

"He splinched a couple of days back," Hermione told her; Rose did not miss the little squeeze she gave to Ron's upper arm.

"I'm all right, Hermione's fixed the worst of it," Ron told her, sinking into one of Rose's kitchen chairs.

"Well. Are you all right? Hermione? Harry?" She looked at them in turn. Hermione gave her a reassuring smile. Harry, however, merely looked weary as he nodded.

"Sit down. You need feeding, that much is plain." _Where is Remus to make the eggs?_ Rose thought with amusement. She was not much gifted with cooking, but Remus had taught her a little about how to make eggs turn out, and she was not ashamed of the product she set on the table some twenty minutes later. She needn't have worried, though; the three teenagers seemed not to have eaten proper meals in days, and they fell on the platter of scrambled eggs as if it were a feast. For the first hour of their visit, they spoke very little. Rose just kept producing more food until the three young people were, at last, satisfied.

Then, at Rose's encouragement, they each took showers and had their clothes cleaned with a Scourgifying spell. Rose stole out to the grocery for more essentials, and that evening found them all cleaned, fed, and sitting comfortably in Rose's living room.

"How have you been keeping yourselves?" Rose asked them.

Again, Hermione was the one to speak for them all. "We've been camping since we left the Mi- since we left Grimmauld. We can't go back there anymore. I think Death Eaters can get in now."

"You've got a tent?" Rose asked in surprise. In answer, Hermione held up a small beaded bag, and Rose drew in her breath. "You've put an extension charm on it," she stated, and Hermione nodded.

"We've got necessities in here, but no food, and when Harry tried to get some at a grocer's, he found Dementors waiting for him."

"And you couldn't do a Patronus charm because the Muggles would see?" Rose asked Harry.

"I couldn't produce one," Harry admitted, looking at the floor. "It wouldn't come."

 _First Remus, now Harry? Will everyone be affected like this? Is this what war does?_ Rose pondered, but aloud she only said, "I'm sure you're only exhausted and hungry."

"He's been a real delight these days," Ron told her, in sarcastic confidence.

"In contrast to you, the Prince of Sunshine over there. Because you've made everyone's life so easy," Harry shot back, and Ron was about to respond in kind when Hermione cried, "Of course! Harry, give me the Hor- the locket, Harry. Come on!" and she snapped her fingers at him impatiently. "You're still wearing it!"

"It's OK," Harry told her, as he removed a chain with a heavy, gold locket from around his neck. "She knows about them." As soon as he had handed it to Hermione, Harry's expression smoothed and he looked less miserable.

"Better?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, loads better!" he responded, feelingly. "Good thinking!"

"Harry," Hermione said, striding over to crouch in front of him, "You don't think you've been possessed, do you?"

"What? No!" he answered. "I remember everything we've done while I've been wearing it. I wouldn't know what I'd done if I'd been possessed, would I? Ginny told me there were times when she couldn't remember anything."

"Hmm," said Hermione, looking down at the locket in her hands, "Well, maybe we ought not to wear it."

"I am not leaving it around," Harry insisted. "After all we've been through to find that, I won't risk losing it."

"You've found a Horcrux, then," Rose said in awe. "You've already found one?"

"Yes," Harry told her. "But we have to hold on to it for now, until we figure out how to destroy it."

"I don't think I copied that part of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ down," Rose said, regretfully, but Hermione reached into her beaded bag and held up the book itself.

"I've got it," Hermione said. "We just don't have a weapon with enough magic to destroy it."

They spent the next hour or so discussing methods to destroy the Horcrux, but fixed on no solutions. As all three of the young people were yawning, Rose suggested they go to bed, which they very soon did. Hermione was asleep within minutes, but when Rose woke up the next morning, she was alone in the bed. Before she could begin to worry, however, she stepped into the living area and found Hermione asleep on the couch, with Ron snoring on the floor next to her, one single pillow under his head. Smiling to herself, Rose continued to the kitchen and very quietly prepared the tea.

They were having breakfast within an hour, Hermione having slipped back into Rose's room before re-emerging with an exaggerated yawn. Rose pretended not to notice. All three young people looked much better than they had the previous night, and were soon comfortably talking about next steps in their quest. Harry had apparently convinced his friends that Rose could be trusted, so they spoke openly about where they might find another Horcrux. Ron and Hermione were in favour of trying to find Tom Riddle's old orphanage, while Harry kept doggedly returning to the argument that Riddle was more attached to Hogwarts than anywhere else. As such, he reasoned, Hogwarts was the more likely site for a Horcrux.

Hermione was exasperated. "But Dumbledore would have found it, Harry!" she insisted.

Harry shook his head. "Not necessarily. Dumbledore said in front of me that he never assumed he knew all of Hogwarts' secrets. I'm telling you, if there was one place that was really important to Voldemort, it was Hogwarts!"

"His school?" Ron wondered, skeptically.

"Yeah, his school!" Harry snapped. "It was his first real home, the place that meant he was special: it meant everything to him, and even after he left-"

"This is You-Know-Who we're talking about, right? Not you?" Ron interrupted. Rose noticed that he was tugging at the chain of the gold locket around his neck as he spoke.

Hermione said, apparently attempting to refocus the conversation, "You told us that You-Know-Who asked Dumbledore to give him a job after he left."

"That's right," Harry told her.

"And Dumbledore thought he only wanted to come back to try and find something, probably another founder's object, to make into another Horcrux? But, he didn't get the job. So, he never got the chance to find a founder's object there and hide it in the school," she reasoned.

"Okay, then," said Harry, sounding defeated. "Forget Hogwarts."

"What are you doing, Ron?" Hermione asked him. For Ron had gotten to his feet while they were talking and had gone into Rose's kitchen, where he now stood, staring out of the window.

"Nothing, probably. Only I thought I heard . . " He trailed off. "Rose, is there a way we can look outside your front door? Have you got a . . . what's it called, a Pete-hole?"

"A peephole?" Rose said, keeping her face straight. "I haven't, no. It's been very inconvenient." She strode over next to him at the kitchen window and looked at his frowning face. "What's bothering you?"

He looked back at her, and Rose saw the same earnest look on his face that he'd worn the night Death Eaters had invaded the castle. "I heard a sound. Could be like, an automobile sound, but it sounded a lot like someone Apparating. Are you expecting anyone?"

Rose shook her head, but Hermione, who come into the kitchen along with Harry, suddenly shushed them. "Listen," she advised.

From outside Rose's flat door, they heard a woman's voice, which Rose recognized as the voice of one of her neighbours. "Is there something I can help you with?" she was saying.

"No. We are waiting for someone," came a male voice from further down the stairs By now, all four of them were pressed against the door, listening fervently.

"Oh, who are you waiting for? Maybe I know where they live," the woman's voice suggested, and then she gasped.

"We have no need of Muggle help!" the voice responded, and there was a pop and a scream from the woman.

"Fool. We cannot afford to make a scene in Muggle London," another male voice came. They heard footsteps, then the voice said, " _Obliviate."_

Then, there was only the sound of the two men whispering together.

Ron stepped away from the door. "That's what I was afraid of," he whispered. "Death Eaters. I don't know how they keep doing this, but they found us at Grimmauld, and now they've found us here."

"They shouldn't be able to see your door, though, right?" Harry asked Rose, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"No, nor anyone on the doorstep," she replied in an undertone. "I wonder what can have brought them here?"

"I don't know," Harry said, beginning to pace. "But you have to go."

"So do you," Rose told him.

"Well obviously we should all go," said Hermione, wringing her hands. "But how?"

"Under the cloak," Harry told her. "If we're careful, we can all fit, long enough to disapparate. Pack a bag, Rose, and Hermione can fit it into her bag. Can't you?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes wide. Rose took a step back, slightly astonished at this new, masterful Harry who took charge so effortlessly. Something profound had changed in the month he'd been gone.

"I will do that, Harry. Where do you think we should go?" She was really asking, _Am I coming with you on your quest?_ But she did not want to ask this aloud.

Ron answered her. "Shell Cottage. They have guest rooms there. And Bill won't tell anyone where we've gone."

"You can stay at Shell Cottage," Harry told Rose, looking into her eyes in a way that answered her question succinctly.

Rose nodded. Privately, she thought she could probably manage a trip back once the Death Eaters lost interest, but she did not say this to Harry. Instead, she went to her room and packed clothes and toiletries enough for a few days into her carpet bag, and reemerged to find the three young people clustered around her door.

Hermione held out her opened beaded bag, and after she stuffed her carpetbag into it, Rose stepped under Harry's Invisibility Cloak with the others and together, they stepped onto her doorstep, locked the door with a silent spell from Rose's wand, and Disapparated before the two cloaked men looked their way.


	41. Third Flower Chapter 42

**Chapter 42: Wintering**

 **A.N. Dates: We begin in early November, 1997. Ron appears at the end of November, and stays through Christmas. We pick up again in early March, for the aftermath of the Dreamwalk. Kingsley visits in mid-March, ahead of the late-March broadcast of Potterwatch.**

 **I'm so grateful for the reviews! Thank you for the feedback and for following Rose's journey. A warning to readers: I may be a little slow to publish the next chapter (which is underway) as I am expecting a baby any day. Depending on this baby's nature, it may be either easier or harder to write during maternity leave. But d** **epend upon it: t** **here will be several more chapters to come.**

Lord Voldemort did not really need to sleep. He had not felt the mortal need of it since, oh, many decades ago. He grew weary at times, it was true, but it was nothing that a few hours' respite from the fools who usually surrounded him would not cure. In truth, he had at times feigned a need for sleep merely to escape Pettigrew's blathering, Lucius' whining, and the fawning flattery of Dolohov, Yaxely, and others.

Severus Snape, for his part, knew when to be silent and when to speak; it was for that reason that Lord Voldemort prized his company, despite that he was never fully satisfied of Snape's loyalty. Long ago, though, he had concluded that the only loyalty that could really be trusted was a wizard's loyalty to his own self-interest. Wizards would abandon all other loyalties before they would abandon themselves. Too many wizards spent too much energy and time seeking the esteem or the _love_ (Tom Riddle scoffed at the mere idea of desiring such a feeling from another) of those in their service, when all one had to do was be sure that remaining in their service was always in their own best interest.

The easiest way with most wizards was to access their fears, and demonstrate that these fears would come to pass if they should show disloyalty. This worked nearly infallibly, though in the few instances when it did not, one could always keep loyalty by offering some benefit which they prized above all else. This had been the way with Bellatrix. It had been long since she held any interest for him beyond the desire to use her for her wild, feral power. But if the pantomime of desire was enough to keep her in his cause, it was a price he was able to pay.

But these games, necessary as they were, wearied some part of him that was beyond the mere mortal need for sleep. Were he able to be always making progress in one or other of his schemes, well. That would be replenishment enough. But the tedium of waiting for these mortal chess pieces to move, or to arrange themselves to his advantage, was maddening. So, he had taken to retiring at night to be in the company of his own thoughts, and sometimes to shed consciousness altogether. If nothing else, it passed the time.

In the past months, he had begun to sleep more often for a new reason: to ensnare the being who had been forcing themselves into his dreams. This was a scheme he kept entirely private, in part because he did not wish his followers to know that he could be susceptible to such a thing. Severus could, perhaps, be trusted to know about the intruder, but Tom preferred to keep their monthly meetings to himself, as a private challenge. The intruder would, one day, reveal too much, and Tom would be able to narrow down their identity, and oh! What their suffering would be on that day. The thought of his revenge was enough to remove any dread he felt of these monthly visitations.

Already, he had deduced that the intruder had some connection to Potter. That it was not Potter himself, Tom felt certain. The intruder had not Potter's brashness; it approached with a coolness which did not suit Potter's childish temper. But the visions it had shown him of his victims were all connected in some way to the boy. He had been forced to consider the boy's mother, the boy's father, the boy's school friend, all deaths which the boy had in some way witnessed. Perhaps the intruder was one of Potter's friends, perhaps one of the blood-traitor Weasley family, or one of the other members of the wretched Order of the Phoenix.

Were this last year, he would have assumed his enemy to be Dumbledore. But this was no longer possible. Dumbledore was dead, a mortal death, and unlike himself, Dumbledore would never be able to return. Dumbledore had always claimed that Tom's Horcruxes would bring him to a fate that was worse than death. He felt the high, cold laugh swelling within him as Tom remembered that Dumbledore was in no position to hold this opinion anymore. _What have your high principles brought you now, Albus Dumbledore? You are but a lifeless, breathless stone in the earth now, able to do nothing to further your aims, reliant on others to fulfill your wishes after your death. Fool._

Tom settled himself onto the plush floor the room at Malfoy Manor he had claimed for his exclusive use. He had read _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ long ago, from cover to cover, so it had not taken him long to recognize his intruder as a dreamwalker. Thus, he could predict the likely window for the intruder's next attempt. Dreamwalking was most effective at, or near, the new moon. The intruder had, once or twice, visited his sleep on a night just before or after the moon was new, but somehow, he knew, it would be tonight. A weaker wizard would have sought to avoid the intruder; it was, after all, a highly unpleasant experience. But each time he was visited, Tom gathered more clues about the intruder's identity, and the distance between himself and his exquisite revenge narrowed. Tom pillowed himself on Nagini's coils and closed his eyes.

It seemed to take no time at all. One moment he was gazing at the vaulted ceiling of the bedroom, and the next, he was wrapped in darkness. Sleep for Tom was not like it had been in the long-ago days before his destruction and rebirth. A human asleep experienced long hours of nothingness, interspersed by occasional flights of nonsense from the dreaming mind. But in his more exalted state, Tom did not experience oblivion. Rather, he experienced solitude and quiet, like an empty room in which his thoughts could brood uninterrupted. True, this time could become tedious, as the further chambers of sleep seemed to be inaccessible to him in this current state. But today, he paced this antechamber in anticipation of its violation. He was not disappointed.

The presence joined him before he had become very weary of the antechamber of sleep. It greeted him as it always did, serenely, by his human name, the name by which Dumbledore always addressed him when he lived. _But this is not Dumbledore,_ he reminded himself. Even if Dumbledore lived, he would know the feel of the man's mind, and his magic. This intruder had a coolness, a kind of elegance, to his or her magic. _It is a woman_ , he suddenly realized, and the longer it raked over his mind, the more this certainty grew.

 _Have you considered Frank Bryce lately, Tom?_ The intruder asked him. _Frank Bryce was a living man, a man who was not your enemy, who was not even particularly in your way. But you murdered him without thinking, without need, without consideration for his life. Your soul is so deranged that you no longer blink at the prospect of another murder. The damage to your soul must be almost beyond repair._

He lunged toward the intruder, but it ( _she?_ ) avoided him effortlessly, protected as they were by the nature of the dreamwalking spell. It continued its attack on his thoughts. _Frank Bryce was something you have never been: selfless. A hero. He was wounded on the shores of Normandy Beach, fighting to protect his country, fighting on behalf of those who could not fight for themselves. Frank Bryce did the steady, mundane work of keeping your father's manor grounds, year in and year out, while your father's family lived in luxury. Frank Bryce knew plants, knew ways that they could be made to flourish despite threats from nature and man, and those secrets died with him. Who are you to decide when a human's wisdom should leave this earth? Have you considered all the knowledge and great deeds that will never see the light because you sent so many to their graves before their natural ends?_

Tom focused his attention on the intruder. He felt he could almost make out a personality, though of course, not its appearance. It was earnest, but controlled, a focused intelligence. It spoke once more: _Consider it now, Tom. Consider it before it is too late to repair the slightest bit of your ravaged soul. Consider it while you can, while your doom tarries. Consider it well._

The intruder receded then, despite his final effort to reach it, and was gone in a moment. Tom Riddle was left with his thoughts, his plans, and the empty room of his semi-human sleep.

* * *

Cornwall in November was rainier and cooler than Rose would like, but she found preferred it infinitely to the dullness of London and the frank cold of Scotland. She had been back to her flat in London several times, each time with Bill or Kingsley to serve as additional protection, and retrieved those of her things that she wanted to have with her, but she now split her time between Shell Cottage and the home of Ted and Andromeda Tonks, where Remus and Tonks were living as well.

For a few hours on that September day when the Death Eaters had come to her flat, Rose had wondered if she wasn't going to be about to join Harry's quest for the Horcruxes after all. Despite Harry's words to her about staying at Bill and Fleur's, he, Ron and Hermione stayed the night at Shell Cottage, and they included her in every conversation about the mission.

"I still reckon it's worth going to the orphanage, just to see what's there. What do you think, Rose?" Ron had asked as they sat around a driftwood fire near the water that night.

Rose's eyebrows rose at being consulted on this question, but she quickly replied, "It may be worth a look, Ron, but it would seem an odd choice for a Horcrux. According to Harry, Riddle couldn't get away from that place quickly enough. It'd be odd to leave something so valuable in a place for which he had such contempt, would it not?"

"But on the other hand," said Hermione, unexpectedly taking Ron's side, "Dumbledore apparently found the ring at the Gaunt house, and I didn't think Riddle had particularly fond feelings for that place, either."

"He didn't," Harry confirmed, "But it symbolized something he was proud of. It connected him to his Slytherin, pure-blood ancestry. He hated what the Gaunts became, but he was proud of what the ring meant. There was nothing about growing up in a Muggle orphanage that made him proud."

They continued this discussion until Bill came out and told them that guest beds had been made up for them. In the morning, Rose went out to find Harry sitting by the shore, apparently lost in thought.

"I suppose you'll be leaving today?" she asked him gently. She deliberately did not say, "we," so as not to put him in an awkward position either way.

"Yeah, we should," he said, running his hand through his hair and unknowingly imitating his father. "Staying here doesn't bring us any closer to the Horcruxes. And it puts Bill and Fleur in danger."

"Your hair's getting long," Rose observed, after a few moments had passed in silence. "I could cut it for you."

"Yeah, sure, I guess," he replied. "Thanks," as an afterthought. Then he looked up at her in sudden resolution. "Rose. I know you want to come with us," he began.

"Well," she said carefully, "I want your mission to be successful. And I want you and the others to be safe. So, to the extent that my being with you could bring that about, I do want that, yes."

"I just- I just think it'll be better if it's just me and Ron and Hermione, though," he said. "It just seems like they won't suspect as much if it's just three kids that went missing. If Order members, you know, adults, go underground, well, it seems like the Ministry would get more suspicious, and like Riddle would think we're up to something. The way it is, I think he mostly thinks we're just hiding from him."

"There is some truth to that," she admitted.

Harry nodded a bit too vigorously, apparently relieved at her lack of opposition. "I just think the fewer people that are involved, the better."

"I suppose if you didn't want Remus to join you, then you definitely don't have any use for me," she joked. "He'd be a much handier person to have in a pinch."

"Except for the significant inconvenience of his being a murderous beast every full moon," Harry quipped. "And," his face grew serious, "he had to go back to Tonks."

"He has gone back to her," Rose told him. "You did right there, by the way. Well done. I've been meaning to tell you."

Harry turned a little red, but smiled. "Has he? Are they really back together, then?"

"It's…," she hesitated, "It's going to take some time for him to really earn back her trust, I think. But, yes. They're headed in that direction."

"Well. Good. Great, actually. But listen, it's not that I don't think Remus- or you- would be helpful on this thing. I know you would. You're both brilliant at defense, brilliant at magic. But I just think, we'll do a better job if it's the three of us. We've been getting up to no good together for kind of a while, now," he said, smiling reminiscently, and she smiled too.

"I hate that my flat's no good to you, now. It felt like the only thing I had to offer."

"Just keep yourself safe," he said, looking at her with sudden intensity. "Please. Try to stay safe. I hate thinking about . . . I like having family," he finished, looking out at the ocean to cover his sudden fit of sincerity.

"I will," she told him. Of her monthly ventures into Dreamwalking, however, she told Harry nothing.

When they left around mid-morning, she hugged them all fervently, and stayed behind with Bill and Fleur. From then on, except for a few supervised forages into her flat to retrieve clothing and books which she especially wanted, Rose lived in Cornwall with Bill and Fleur, and sometimes in the Cotswolds, at the Tonks' home.

Though she missed her quiet flat, Rose found herself happy with the arrangement. It kept her up to date on the movements of the Resistance; she knew now, for example, why Death Eaters had been able to locate her flat, despite the protective enchantments: Voldemort had placed a taboo upon his name. Harry, it turned out, had unknowingly summoned the Death Eaters when he said Voldemort's name aloud in her flat. Living with other wizards also kept her busy helping Fleur and Tonks, and kept her from the loneliness and eeriness of her flat while a war was on.

And Rose could get solitude at Shell Cottage, to an extent. There was a large area of beach in front of the house which was inside its protective enchantments, and afforded Rose a place to walk and mediated from time to time. Today, she used as an excuse the dwindling pile of driftwood which the family used to fuel their fire to give her the chance to walk the shores and look for more.

Rose had been strolling by the water, picking up driftwood for around an hour and was beginning to think of returning to the cottage (the sun was nearly to its setting) when there came a POP of Apparition and she spun around. His back was to her, but Rose recognized the form of Ron Weasley immediately.

He was around twenty yards away from her when he appeared. He did not notice her, but sank to his knees immediately, dropping a canvas rucksack on the sand and putting his hands over his eyes. Rose broke into a run.

"Ron! Are you all right? Where are the others?"

He turned quickly and she saw that he looked very pale, his eyes red-rimmed. "Rose," he croaked, then said nothing and swallowed. She dropped down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder while he composed himself. The silence before he was able to speak was almost unbearable to Rose, but she waited.

"They're all right. Or, they were when I left them. They've left where they last were, and I- I can't find them."

Rose looked at him closely. His face was dirty, and bore signs of recent fear or struggle. _This is more than losing track of Harry and Hermione,_ she thought. Aloud, she said, "Are you all right? What brings you here? Though, I'm sure Bill will be glad to see you."

"I'm OK," he told her, though he did not sound it. "I just- we got separated. I ran into some Snatchers, got splinched again, and came here. I didn't know where else to go."

"Where did you splinch?"

"Just my fingernails," he told her, holding up his right hand from which, indeed, two fingernails were missing from his long fingers. "Smarts a bit, but it's all right."

She crouched there beside him for a moment, then stood up and reached out a hand to him. "Why don't you come inside? I was just about to bring this in," she gestured at the driftwood.

He took her hand and stood. "I can carry it," he offered, but Rose shook her head.

"It's only a bit of driftwood, and you look like you've been through a world of suffering today. Just manage your rucksack, why don't you."

They walked slowly toward the cottage. Rose probed at him once more. "So how did you come to be separated? And, did you go back to where you last saw them? Surely they would wait for you, if they could?" _Unless some danger came upon them,_ she thought with a shiver of dread.

"They probably didn't think I was coming back," Ron muttered, wiping his nose on his sleeve with a grimace.

"And why is that?" Rose asked, stopping suddenly and looking directly at him.

He avoided her eyes. "Well, er, that'd be because I left. We had a row, and then at the end of it I- left."

"You _what_?" Rose exploded. "What on earth could you have rowed about that would have made you _leave_ them? Your best friends? After you promised to stay with them, you promised to share the mission. Harry _needs_ you, Ron. What on earth were you doing?"

He took a step back and held up his hands as if to shield himself from her indignation. "I wasn't myself!" he protested, but his expression was miserable. "I'd been wearing that bloody thing around my neck for ages, and I hadn't eaten anything but mushrooms in days. Something happens when you wear that thing, the others felt it too. It makes you- it makes you think ugly things. Makes you mean. I didn't mean any of it, and I tried to find them again, I swear. It just-" he gulped. "I convinced myself they didn't want me around. I thought they wanted me gone."

"Didn't they try to talk you out of leaving?" Rose asked, struggling against another flash of anger.

"They did," he admitted, in a strangled-sounding voice. "But it felt too late. I didn't think they meant it. It's like that thing was telling me they didn't mean it, and they couldn't wait to see the back of me. As soon as I took it off and left, I tried to go back. But I couldn't."

Rose stood and stared at him for a long minute, while he looked at the dull brown grass at his feet. His hair was wet and matted, his nose was red, and there were grass stains on his trousers. He wore a tattered jumper that looked inadequate to the cold, late autumn wind. Ron could not have looked more defeated if he had thrown up his hands in surrender, and Rose felt her fury abating.

"Well. You need something to eat. Let's see what Fleur has going for supper, then." He looked up at her, frowning slightly, as if he expected to have been sent away at wandpoint. When she only raised her eyebrows and gestured toward the cottage door, he nodded, took a deep breath, and followed her inside.

Ron stayed at Shell Cottage for four weeks. He made himself useful to Bill and Fleur as much as he could, chopping firewood, caring for the chickens, repairing the fence, and generally being an extra pair of hands for Fleur. Rose noted his self-effacing, assiduous attitude with some surprise. He had never struck her as particularly industrious or neglectful of his own comfort before.

Ron had always been good humored, talkative, and loyal to the people he loved. But during his stay with them, Ron woke up every morning by seven o'clock, ate whatever breakfast he was offered quickly and gratefully, and immediately began to ask after what he could do to help his brother and sister-in-law that day. Sometimes Fleur would send him to collect eggs, or tell him of something which needed fixing, and he would do it gladly.

There were other days when Fleur could come up with no tasks for him, but would pat him on the shoulder fondly and say, "Why don't you 'ave a leetle rest zis morning, _mon frère_ , eh?" and those were the days when Ron seemed to them most miserable. While Rose and Fleur cooked or cleaned or magically set pairs of knitting needles to work making socks or jumpers, Ron would mope by the ocean, or spend hours tapping at the wireless radio, trying to locate the new Resistance-led radio station. The two witches discussed him, sometimes, in French.

"He obviously has some sorrow. Hermione has broken his heart, perhaps," Fleur offered one day, glancing at him out the window as he threw stones into the ocean. On such an overcast, windy day, it was a melancholy picture.

"I think not," Rose replied, quietly, as she sent the freshly washed teacups gently into their cupboard with a wave of her wand and a murmured incantation. "He has had a falling out with his friends. And he is ashamed."

This intelligence did not lessen Fleur's growing affection for her brother-in-law, however. To the contrary, she spoke to him with more gentleness than before, seeming to regard him as a tragic figure.

On Christmas morning, Fleur and Bill were having a lie-in in the master bedroom, while Ron and Rose sat in the kitchen having breakfast. She had been invited to spend the whole day at the Tonks' home, and she did plan to join them for dinner, but this morning, she rather thought that Ron had more need of the company.

"Why don't you try to find your program again?" Rose suggested, after a particularly loud giggle from Fleur caused an embarrassed flush to spread over Ron's face and neck.

He agreed, and soon covered all other sounds with the loud static of the radio. He tapped at the radio, muttering words with his wand, and Rose had finished her tea and picked up her knitting when the static from the radio stopped. She looked up. Ron had switched the radio off and was now sitting perfectly still, holding a small, metal cylinder that looked like a thick cigarette lighter and frowning. Rose opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but shut it when she heard the smallest, tinniest sound coming from the object.

Ron was listening intently and Rose came to sit in the chair next to him. From the round opening of the cylinder, which Ron had uncovered by depressing his thumb on a metal switch, came the faint sound of Hermione's voice. "Remember... remember Ron?" it said. "When he broke his wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, he had to get a new one."

Even fainter still came Harry's voice. "Well," it said, "Well, I'll just borrow yours for now, then. To keep watch." As faint as the voice was, Rose could hear that it sounded stricken and hollow. Something had obviously happened to Harry's wand, and Rose looked up, troubled. To her surprise, Ron was grinning radiantly. He said nothing, but depressed the switch on the object again. Rose gasped. All of the lights in the kitchen went out.

"What is that, Ron?" she asked him.

"It's the Deluminator," he answered, distractedly, looking around as if he expected to see something floating in the darkness. "Dumbledore left it to me. I thought at first it only did the lights, but now I wonder . . ." He broke off suddenly and pointed. Rose stood next to him and followed the direction of his finger through the window into the garden. A blue ball of light was pulsing in the air outside.

Ron simply stared at it for a moment. Then, he burst into movement again, but rather than pursuing the light, he hurried back into the room where he'd been staying in the cottage, despite that it was right next to the master bedroom where Fleur and Bill still were.

Rose kept the blue ball of light in her view. It was oddly entrancing, and she also felt its importance to Ron. She hoped it would not disappear before he returned. The sounds coming from Bill and Fleur's room now were unmistakable, but she was able to ignore them as her eyes focused on the gently swelling blue orb in the garden.

In a moment, Ron was back, his now full rucksack on his shoulder. "I think," he said, and his voice shook with suppressed excitement, "I think I can find them now." And he strode past her into the garden in the direction of the light.

It had waited for him, but as soon as Ron came outside, the ball of light began to move. Rose followed Ron, who had begun to stride to keep up with the ball. Behind the shed, it stopped, and Ron stopped with it, so abruptly that Rose almost ran into him. The ball of light slowly drifted toward him where it collided with his chest. When Rose looked after it, fascinated and a little frightened for him, she saw it glowing dimly from inside him, at the approximate location of his heart.

Ron put his rucksack on and looked at Rose, his blue eyes bright with hope. "I have to go," he told her. "I know where they are, now. Or at least," and he pointed at his chest, " _this_ does."

Rose nodded at him, rather in awe of his certainty about the strange sequence of events.

"When Bill and Fleur are- when they come out," he said, both reddening and laughing a little, "Tell them. I have to find the others."

"Of course you do," she said, finding her voice. And before he could disapparate, Rose stepped forward and hugged him. "They need you," she said in his ear. "Help Harry. For me, please." He nodded, and she released him and stepped back.

Ron Disapparated a full hour before Bill and Fleur emerged, flushed, from their bedroom. He did not return.

* * *

Rose's recovery from her next bout of Dreamwalking was harder than usual. She had researched the life of Dorcas Meadowes, a member of the Order of the Phoenix whom Voldemort had killed just before he had come for James and Lily. She had had no difficulty in finding Tom Riddle's unconscious mind. As she recovered in the guest room at the Tonks' home and reflected, however, this was becoming suspicious in itself.

In the first months of her Dreamwalking project, her efforts had been hit or miss. Sometimes she wandered the web of dreamers for an hour before turning back and forcing herself to awake and admit failure. But in the past three months, Rose had encountered Tom's node each time she had sought it. And last night, it had shown none of the usual hostility and resistance to her message. It seemed to reach for her, inquiringly, and when she departed, she could almost detect, in the quality of its energy, a kind of satisfaction. When she had pulled away, too, she met with resistance. Tom's energy pulsed and seemed to finally catch at her presence, not enough to detain her for long but enough to slow her return to her body and make her feel uneasily when she woke as if she had left something behind.

Rose's headache and fatigue disappeared in a few days. The discomfort was entirely forgotten by the time, a week later, Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived at the Tonks' Apparition point one evening. His visits, while rare, were not unheard of; Kingsley made an effort to keep Andromeda in the loop since the Muggle-born Ted had gone on the run some months before. He, too, was officially in hiding, but he kept up with Order meetings and divided his time among various Order members' safe houses. He greeted Rose, Andromeda, and Tonks.

"Remus is still at Malfoy Manor with Hestia and Bill Weasley," he told them in his calm, deep voice. "I got a Patronus from Bill when I left the Burrow. There have been no developments, and they expect to depart as planned tonight."

Tonks exhaled, and Rose squeezed her arm. "Thank you, Kingsley. We really appreciate your keeping us in the loop," Rose told him, and he bowed his head in her direction.

"Please stay for dinner, Kingsley, won't you? I've made a goulash," Andromeda urged, but Kingsley shook his head. "I must keep moving, but I thank you. I actually came to have a word with Rose, here. Would you be willing to step outside a moment?" He asked, looking at her in his mild way.

"Of course," Rose answered. When they were outside, she asked him, "Has there been any word of Harry?"

"None," he replied. "And we must take this as a good sign. Whatever may be his doings, Harry does not wish to be found, that much is clear. To have evaded detection for this long is most impressive. I do not know, just now, of any reason to worry about him."

"There is always reason to worry about Harry," Rose remarked dryly.

Kingsley gave a slight smile. "Worrying about a young person like him could easily become a full time occupation. I understand. For the present," he said, patting her arm where it draped over the Tonks' garden fence, "He seems to be as safe as any of us. Speaking of which, I've come to discuss something which pertains to your own safety. I stopped by your flat a few days ago."

As Secret-Keeper, Kingsley could visit her flat with more safety than most people, as he, like Rose, could Apparate directly onto the space in front of her door. "I don't think I was seen," he continued, "but there were Death Eaters standing watch just feet from where I Apparated. I returned yesterday in the early morning and two other Death Eaters were there, again, just outside the door. I listened to them a moment and heard them discussing you by name. It seems they know whose flat it is they are staking out, and, I'm afraid, all they would need to get inside is to know your exact address, including the postbox number. Is your address on file with anyone, anywhere? At Hogwarts, perhaps?"

Rose shook her head. "I took the flat while Dolores Umbridge was at Hogwarts. It did not seem wise at the time to allow the school access to it."

Kingsley nodded, looking relieved. "Good, good. And who else knows the address?"

"Harry does. But he knows not to return there. And, Ron will have told him of the taboo."

"No one else?" he pressed.

"No one who is not in the Order. Remus, and Tonks, they have been there. But they're the only ones."

He gave a nod of satisfaction. "I do not know how they learned to whom the flat belongs. Severus Snape, perhaps, or some other informant has told him. But in any case, they know of you now, and honestly, it is only a matter of time before they are able to deduce your post box number. I would caution you against returning to that flat, Rose. I'm sorry."

She sighed. "I suppose someone was going to break the taboo in my flat eventually. I only wish it could still be a safe place for Harry to go, if he needs."

"Rose," he said, seriously, his dark eyes fixed on hers. "Can you think of a reason that you are being singled out by the Death Eaters? Besides merely that you are related to Harry. It seems very much as if the, er, Head Death Eater, has business with you."

She met his gaze and wondered how to respond. She did not like to lie to this sober, intelligent man. And yet, she found that neither could she tell him that she had copied down a very dangerous spell from a book of Dark Magic in order to assault the Dark Lord's unconscious mind on her own. _He will think me a fool,_ she thought. _And he will not understand why I need to do it._

"I have- I have been working with Harry, in ways that I have not been authorized to share," she invented. "And this may have put me back in, in _his_ , mind."

He looked at her for a moment, inviting her to give further explanation, but when she did not, he only nodded. "Well. Feel free to ask for any help I can give. My home is no longer safe for me, but fortunately, we have many allies who have made their homes safe. I understand, incidentally, your desire to take action, even risky action, when your family is in danger. Perhaps you did not know that my own mother was killed by Death Eaters when I was a child?"

Rose's eyes widened. She shook her head. "No, I did not know. I am so very sorry. Was she active in the first war?"

"She was. She was also a Nigerian immigrant, and Muggle-born. The other pureblood families with whom my father associated did not take kindly to their marriage. I am not sure that my mother's being African did not further their disapproval."

"It probably did," Rose agreed, sadly.

He nodded again. "When the last war broke out, my father defied them openly, and they both joined the Order of the Phoenix. They were on a raid one day in 1979; they had ambushed a group of Death Eaters in the wake of a terrorist act at the Ministry. During the raid, Death Eaters kidnapped, and later killed, my mother."

Rose had tears in her eyes, now. She placed a hand on his, but could think of nothing further to say.

"I was not even at Hogwarts yet, but I couldn't wait to join the Order after that. My sister, now, she was all for leaving the country. But all I could think of was honoring my mother by fighting the Death Eaters in any way I could."

"And so you became an Auror," she observed.

"And so I became an Auror," he agreed. "I was determined to fight dark wizards however I could. It is an ambition, as I hear, which your nephew shares."

Rose smiled affectionately. "Yes. Harry was taking his NEWT coursework last year with the Auror program in mind. Though, I don't suppose he will be able to matriculate, now."

"When the war is over, however it ends," Kingsley replied, "I have a feeling many institutions will be very different from what they were. I imagine there will be many exceptions made for many people. He may well still enter the program one day. In any case, I wished to speak with you in part to warn you against returning to your flat, but I have other business. Have you heard of the radio program, 'Potterwatch?'"

She frowned. "Yes, of course. And now that Ron has returned to Harry, or at least," she said, rubbing her temples distractedly, "I think he has, Harry and Hermione will know about it, too. Yes, Potterwatch is frequently played at both the Weasleys' and the Tonks' homes. It is a source of hope for many. I am so glad you have been able to continue to broadcast."

"How would you like to be on the next broadcast?"

Rose opened her mouth, and then shut it. In a rather small voice, she asked, "What would I talk about?"

"Well, you might offer an international or historical perspective on the war. Or you could read the report from the Order's minutes. Whatever you like. It seems a small thing," he said, turning up the collar of his robes and taking out his wand, preparing to go, "but these broadcasts inspire and energize the movement. And who knows? Your nephew himself may be listening, wherever he is. I know that you need to do something, Rose. I know that need, to take action, when all you love is threatened. I will return next week with the where and the when. Can I count on you to help with the broadcast?"

"You can," she said, and shook his hand readily. With a slight bow, Kingsley turned and Disapparated, and Rose was left to contemplate how much of her willingness to speak on the broadcast of Potterwatch came from a desire to help the cause, and how much of it came from the growing warmth she felt for Kingsley Shacklebolt.

15


	42. Third Flower Chapter 43

**Chapter 43: Shoots**

 **A.N. Thank you for all the lovely reviews! In the home stretch now, both with this fic and with my pregnancy. Baby is taking its time and is not born yet, but I expect it'll still be longer than usual before the next chapter is published.**

 **Dates: This Potterwatch broadcast takes place in late March. The refugees from Malfoy Manor arrive at Shell Cottage a couple of days later. We don't have an exact date for Teddy Lupin's birth, but I like to place it as starting on April 20 and concluding on the morning of the 21st. And of course, the summons-by-Galleon occurs on the first of May.**

 **As always, I greatly appreciate reviews. I do not respond to many, especially those which contain speculation about plot events to come, because I do not want to give anything away. But I appreciate reviews as a sign of investment in the story. Stick with Rose! Like Mary Tyler Moore, she's going to make it after all.**

The contributors to Potterwatch met at a different safe home for each broadcast. This was in part because they did not want to meet at any of the well-known resistance homes (the Burrow, Shell Cottage, The Tonks' home) too often, in case they were raided during a broadcast. But it was also because they were running out of places to hide. Kingsley's home was no longer safe, though he and his family were still on the run. Hestia Jones' family home had been raided by Death Eaters in February. Aberforth Dumbledore had warned them against any further meetings in his pub, as Hogsmeade had recently come under Death Eater occupation, and Augusta Longbottom had recently fled her home fighting off a squad of raiding Death Eaters.

There could be no further broadcasts at the home of Xenophilius Lovegood, either. After Luna was taken captive just before Christmas, Xenophilius had begun ignoring all contact from Order members. A few days after Christmas, the Order learned he had been taken captive by the Death Eaters, and his house damaged severely. They were left to wonder about the truth of the rumor that he had summoned the Death Eaters himself, providing a (false, as it turned out) report that Harry Potter was there, in an effort to exchange him for Luna. Since Lovegood himself was now at Azkaban, he was not in a position to elucidate.

Contributors met, however, in Dedalus Diggle's garden shed for a late March broadcast of Potterwatch. They were a varied group of older Order members, new, recent Hogwarts graduates, and those, like Kingsley and Rose, who had come to adulthood between the wars. Rose shook hands happily with her old students, Lee Jordan and the Weasley twins, and settled herself between Remus and Kingsley on the tree stumps Dedalus had rounded up as stools. He had appointed himself a guard, and was pacing his garden, his usual exuberance mingled with nervousness as he strode back and forth outside the shed.

Lee Jordan, the unofficial emcee of the program, opened the show and read the names of the dead and captured. Kingsley gave a statement about the effect of the war on Muggles, and urged Wizards to use whatever means available to them to protect their vulnerable neighbors. And then, they had decided, Rose would take the microphone.

"Before we hear from Romulus and our 'Pals of Potter' segment," said Lee, nodding at Remus, "We welcome a new contributor today, who will attempt to put the Anti-Death-Eater movement into context for us by comparing it to the anti-Grindelwald Resistance of fifty years ago. Flower, welcome!"

"Thank you, River," Rose said, when Lee had handed her the microphone. "These are dark times, without a doubt. Many listeners will remember the last British Wizarding War, in the 1970s and early 80s, and it is all too easy to make comparisons to that time. But we can gain further perspective by looking beyond our own nation, and consider all that was done by those brave Witches and Wizards who resisted during the time of Grindelwald's reign of terror. Many of us know of the pureblooded Witches and Wizards who hid Muggle-borns in their homes, and the work that Witches and Wizards did throughout Europe to protect their Muggle neighbors, often without their knowledge.

"Fewer of us in the Wizarding world know as much about the efforts made by Muggle men and women during this time to protect _their_ neighbors. You see, at the same time that Grindelwald's movement was prosecuting Muggles, the Muggle regime in Germany under the Nazi party was persecuting other Muggle groups, groups whose religion, ethnic group, sexuality, politics, or ability put them in the minority. At the same times that groups of Muggles, Muggle-borns, and wizards and witches who opposed Grindelwald were being murdered or disappearing to Nurmengard, other groups within the Muggle population were being similarly attacked or taken to Nazi camps to be worked to death.

"But just as in this time, many heroes emerged. Soldiers fought to liberate the camps and fight back against both repressive regimes. Some citizens of France fled to the mountains and engaged in guerilla strategies against the Germans. Individual Muggles hid members of persecuted groups in their homes. Some sabotaged infrastructure such as Muggle trains, while others passed information to the Muggle Allied powers who were fighting the Nazis. Knowing these historical facts helps us to understand two important things. One, that humans are endlessly creative in devising ways to oppress and dehumanize one another.

"But the second insight is that there will always be those who resist evil, in every time and place. People whom an oppressive regime privileges are in a position to use their privilege to protect and defend the vulnerable. Listeners who are pureblooded Wizards, you are the privileged ones in this regime of terror and death. How will you use yours?"

Lee allowed a moment for Rose's question to hang in the air before clearing his throat. "Thank you, Flower. Very inspiring insight from history, there. While we have you, on the off chance that the Chosen One himself is listening, any words of encouragement for him?"

Rose took the microphone back and took a deep breath before responding. "I would urge him to remember that progress is rarely linear. It is made up of periods of unproductive mundanity, interrupted by sudden breakthroughs, bursts of insight, epiphanies. I would tell Harry not to lose hope. And, to remember the strength that there is in love."

Rose only just managed to pass off the microphone to Remus when the tears began to overpower her. She had held up stoically in the months since Christmas, helping to keep Fleur's spirits up when Bill was on a mission, supporting Tonks when she had learned of the death of her father, and attending Order meetings at the Burrow where she accepted missions and offered strategies for the movement with alacrity. But the idea of Harry's possibly having heard her voice, however remote the chances were, was too much for her.

She had not seen him since September. Ron had left Shell Cottage at Christmas, and had sent no word. Rose had been, she hoped, a valuable member of the resistance to Voldemort's regime, but she knew that all it would take to destroy her utterly would be news of Harry's capture or death. The dread of it bubbled in the corners of her mind every day. Kingsley put a comforting hand on her back as her head sank into her hands.

By the time Fred Weasley had started in on the difference between Voldemort and a basilisk, however, Rose was sitting up again, and her tears were due to hearty, though silent, laughter.

* * *

Only days later, Rose was in Andromeda's spacious kitchen, teaching Tonks Fleur's magical dishwashing technique. "Before you do the Levitation charm," Rose was saying, wiping her hands on the apron Andromeda had loaned her and reaching for her wand, "you have to wave it in a line across all the dishes you want to levitate. Fleur says it helps to have them all in a row first," she cautioned, before Tonks could attempt to levitate the dishes from their messy heap and undoubtedly break many of them.

Tonks wiped her own hands directly onto the jumper which stretched over her swollen belly while Rose placed the dishes into a neat sideways stack. Upon Tonks' incantation, the dishes rose into the air in a neat, levitating row.

"Then," Rose continued, "after you say the washing spell, and the sorting spell, you add " _Singulus_ " to the end. That keeps them from smashing up against each other."

" _Scourgify Singulus,_ " Tonks commanded, and the dishes began to wash themselves. "Oh, Brilliant," she observed when the last dishes settled themselves neatly at the top of the stack in the cupboard. "I can't believe I didn't break one. Next you'll have me reading _Witch Weekly."_

"Well, we don't need to go that far," Rose responded with a grimace. "Here, let me get the pans. You have a sit." Tonks gratefully settled herself on a stool and told Rose about her Healer visit that day.

"She says the baby is head down! Its heart rate is strong," Tonks said.

"Did she say anything that could reassure Remus?" Rose asked, and then, " _Scourgify,_ " to the first pan in the sink.

"It's supposed to be a very good sign that all these full moons keep coming and going and I don't feel any change in its movement. He'll have to be content with that until it's born, though. They can't do any proper testing until it's earthside."

Rose nodded, and was going to ask a follow up question when a silvery blur appeared at the edge of her vision. She turned to find Bill Weasley's Patronus, a noble-looking falcon, perched on the kitchen table. Its beak opened and it spoke with Bill's voice. "Rose, everyone's safe, but we've had some visitors. You might want to come if possible."

Rose looked at Tonks, who nodded and gestured her consent to Rose's going. "Tell him I'm on my way," Rose told the falcon, who bowed its head before streaking away.

Rose's heart had begun to beat nervously. _He said everyone's safe,_ she reminded herself. But her mouth was still dry. She looked at Tonks, who shrugged at her and said, "Go, Rose. Remus will be home soon. I'm fine. Go."

She nodded, and after throwing a few necessary overnight items into a bag, Rose went to the Apparition point and concentrated hard on Shell Cottage.

It was a beautiful night in Cornwall, unseasonably warm with a clear sky full of stars. Rose saw no one upon her arrival, but in the cottage, all the lights were on. She was passing the garden before she noticed him: Harry, digging steadily at a small hole at the edge of the early potatoes. He was so engrossed in his task that he neither saw nor heard her, but continued to fill and empty his spade rhythmically while Rose stood and watched him. After several minutes had passed, he paused and flexed his hands, grimacing slightly, and then caught sight of her watching him.

"Hi," he rasped. His face was a strange mixture of calmness and anguish. Silently, she conjured a glass and filled it with water from her wand. She handed it to him and he drank thirstily. "Thanks," he said when he'd finished, and then turned back to his task.

"What are you working on, Harry?" she asked him. "It's an unusual time for gardening."

He released a sound that might have been a mirthless chuckle. Then he said quietly, "It's for Dobby," and buried the spade in the dirt again. Rose took her eyes from him and noticed, for the first time, a little bundle about ten feet away from where Harry was digging. She approached it, a pit forming in her stomach, and saw the little elf lying inert, unbreathing, with eyes still open and looking at nothing. She swallowed.

"Do you want help?" she asked Harry.

He stopped again and glanced at her. "No, thanks. I think . . . I need to do this." She nodded.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

He shook his head again. "Not yet." She could hear talking in the house, many voices, though none spoke in a way that gave her any reason for alarm. So, she sat on the little garden bench and alternately watched Harry toiling away with his spade, and the sea. After a few minutes, Harry broke the silence.

"I can block him out, now."

" . . . _Him_? From your mind?"

"Yes. He's furious, mind, I can feel it, I just don't have to see it, now. And I know the answer. You were right. You said, two years ago, that you can't replace something with nothing. You can't replace a feeling with no feeling."

"It's true," Rose agreed. Her voice was soft. "I tried for years to feel nothing. Sometimes it works. But there are certain things you can never do when your heart is closed." _Like cast a Patronus,_ she thought, but did not say it aloud.

"Maybe Snape can do Occlumency by feeling nothing," Harry observed, emptying his spade in the pile. "Or," he added, "Maybe he just didn't really want me to learn."

"I suspect the former."

Harry just shrugged and continued to dig. Rose sensed that he was in no mood for a long conversation, so after watching him at it for another minute, she rose. "Ron and Hermione inside?" she asked.

"Yeah. Hermione wasn't doing well when we got here. Bill said she'd be all right. But . . . I don't know exactly..." he shook his head.

"I'll see if I can help," she promised. As she passed him, Rose squeezed Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad you're all right. I love you."

He stopped digging again and his hand went to her hand on his shoulder. Seeming unable to speak, he squeezed her hand briefly, before returning to his work.

Hermione was paler than Rose had ever seen her. She did not open her eyes when Rose entered the little guest room, the one where she herself usually stayed. Ron sat in a small wooden chair by her side, clutching at her hand. He looked stricken, but looked up when Rose entered. "What happened, Ron?" she asked, dreading the answer. Because unlike Harry, Ron looked inclined to tell her.

"Bellatrix had her, for a while. For too long. She wanted information. Harry and me, we were locked in the basement at Malfoy Manor. We found Ollivander, and Luna and Dean. They're all here now, with a goblin called Griphook."

"How did you escape?" As she asked it, Rose heard Fleur enter behind her.

"Dobby," Ron said simply, and that was all he could say just then.

Fleur sat down gently on the bed and took out a bottle of Skele-Gro. She measured out a dose and held it coaxingly to Hermione's lips. "Zair you go, _chère_ , take eet. Zees will 'elp you 'eal fast."

Hermione gave no other sign that she had heard than to turn her head away from the spoon. Fleur frowned and began to try her entreaty again, but Ron intervened.

"Let me try, Fleur?"

Fleur looked at Ron and her frown melted away. "Well, zen, you try, _frère_." She looked at him with affection as she sat back and Ron took the spoon.

"Hey, Hermione," he said. His voice was very soft. "We made it. You're safe. You've just got to take your potion now." Hermione's eyes fluttered open just a crack as she studied him. "I'll tell you what," he continued. "I'll eat everything you cook and never complain again, if you take your potions today. Seems like a good deal, eh? You should take it."

The very edges of her lips curled up. When he held up the spoon of Skele-Gro, she opened her mouth and drank the contents without protest. She did the same when he offered her the pain potion, and Fleur patted his shoulder. "You are ze 'ealer in zis room, now," she told him affectionately. "She should not need anyzing more for a few hours. I will go to Griphook, now."

Ron held Hermione's hand in both of his as she drowsed for the next few minutes. He told Rose in an undertone what had happened to them at Malfoy Manor. "We were listening to Potterwatch- we heard you, by the way! Brilliant lecture," he told her with a slight smirk. "And at the end of it, Harry got a bit excited. Something he heard agreed with his theory about what You-Know-Who's been doing, and he broke the taboo again. Snatchers were on us in seconds." If Ron blamed Harry for this, however, there was no sign of it in his face.

"They roughed us up a bit, took us to Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix took Hermione. We know she was torturing her; used the _Cruciatus_ curse, among other things. Not sure how she got the bones out of her wand arm, but I'll bet she did that first. Too much of a coward to try to touch her if she could use her wand, I'll bet. Hermione with a wand should scare You-Know-Who himself," he remarked, proudly.

"Anyway, Harry managed to summon Dobby using Sirius' mirror, somehow. He got us out. But there's something else- you should probably know. Wormtail is dead."

The sentence went through Rose like a thunderbolt. She had long ceased her active effort to capture Peter Pettigrew; after Sirius' death, it seemed like a poor priority in a war with so many enemies and so many dangers to people she cared about. But Pettigrew returned often to her thoughts; more than Bellatrix, she blamed him that she and Sirius had been unable to have a future together.

"What happened?" she whispered. But Ron shook his head.

"That story should probably wait. Harry and I were there for it. It was . . . not pretty. We'll tell everyone later. But he's dead. Where's Harry?" he asked suddenly.

"Digging a grave for Dobby," she answered. "He wouldn't let me help," she added, hoping her voice did not sound resentful. But Ron only nodded.

"He might let me help, though," he said, and stood. He looked down at Hermione, who had gone back to sleep.

"I'll stay with her," Rose promised him, and he nodded, swallowed, and gently disengaged his hand from Hermione's. Rose took her hand instead, and through the window she watched as Ron walked out to Harry, said something in response to some question of Harry's, then threw an arm around his friend's shoulders. A moment later, Dean joined them holding two spades. The three of them jumped into the hole Harry had been digging, and together they began to dig, and Rose thought that, if anyone were as fortunate in friendship as James had been, it was James' son.

* * *

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean, and Luna stayed with Bill and Fleur for over five weeks, even longer than did Griphook and Mr. Ollivander. As such, there was no room for Rose to stay comfortably at Shell Cottage. She made regular visits, watching with satisfaction as Hermione continued to improve (though the girl was markedly quieter than she'd been as long as Rose had known her, and was prone to fits of shaking which only Ron could quell). Harry brooded and kept to himself, even excluding his friends at times. He spent a great deal of time near the crashing ocean, by himself.

Rose, for her part, spent a good deal of her energy trying to reduce the burden on Fleur. The cottage was by no means suitable for hosting seven guests, in addition to its occupants, and though Fleur never exactly complained, Rose knew the cooking and nursing and lack of privacy wore at her. So she stayed at Fleur's side as much as she could, helping with the cooking and cleaning and nursing. She did not try to force Harry's confidence, though she frequently brought him cups of tea when he had been out staring at the waves for too long. He always drank the tea, and seemed pleased to see her, but did not say very much of what he was thinking to her.

"He's trying to make up his mind," Hermione explained one evening as they and Ron used their wands to dry a basket of clean, wet laundry. "He's learned what You-Know-Who is looking for, and he can't decide whether to try and stop him, or whether to keep on looking for Horcruxes. He's trying to figure out what Dumbledore wanted him to do."

"Trying to read a dead man's mind. Not really a straightforward thing to do, but that's Harry," Ron said, shrugging as he pulled out another pair of socks to dry.

"There is nothing like the ocean for epiphanies," Rose observed, looking over her shoulder to where Harry was throwing stones into the waves. "I'm sure he'll have one soon. I think he's had several already."

In the evenings, though, Rose returned to Andromeda Tonks' home. Tonks, who grew more and more uncomfortable as the weeks passed, was very glad to have the company, especially when Remus left for a meeting or a mission. On one evening when Remus was home, Rose confided to him and to Tonks that she feared Voldemort had moved past suspicion into certainty about the identity of the person intruding upon his dreams. When she described what Kingsley had told her about the behavior of the Death Eaters staking out her flat, Remus sucked in his breath.

"I was afraid of this," he said. "I really think you should stop this, Rose. At least, for a while. I don't like the sound of the way his energy was behaving when you tried to leave him last time. I wouldn't put it past him to find a way to trap you there. It's a horrifying thought. Take a break, will you? At least until we come up with a plan?"

"You know, resume your highly dangerous assault on his mind, but after the baby's born?" Tonks quipped, but with a touch of sincerity in her eyes. Rose agreed.

Remus spent April's full moon in a remote part of Scotland, since Rose had long run out of the Wolfsbane ingredients. And the weeks passed relatively uneventfully, until one evening in late April, Tonks seemed unable to get comfortable. She shifted and squirmed on the sofas, then paced around her mother's kitchen, sipping tea and seeming agitated. Rose watched her pace around for several minutes before she remembered that this was very similar to the way she remembered Lily behaving when-

"Tonks, how are you feeling?" she asked her friend. Andromeda was in her room (she frequently resorted to her bedroom for hours at a time since the death of her husband) and Remus had not yet returned from an Order mission to smuggle Muggleborns to safety.

"I'm . . . well, all right, I think maybe having contractions? Maybe?" She looked at Rose, and Rose saw hope, discomfort, worry, and a touch of fear pass over her face in a matter of seconds.

"Ok, then," Rose replied, willing calmness into her voice, while she tried desperately to remember what they had done for Lily. She had a distant memory of Lily having to be coaxed out of the bath-tub after spending hours there. "How about a bath?"

"Maybe . . ." But Tonks looked distracted. "I wish Remus was home."

"I could get your mother, and then fetch him," Rose suggested. "It wouldn't probably be the thing to send a Patronus galloping around the Muggleborns' houses, anyway."

Tonks shook her head and managed to say, "No, stay, Rose, it's too dangerous," before she had to bend over a chair, swaying and humming. Rose went to get Andromeda, who leaped into action. She looked pale, but stately as she set about making tea and Flooing her private healer. The healer soon arrived, and while she examined Tonks in her bedroom, Rose took Andromeda aside.

"I'd like to go and find Remus," she whispered. "I believe they were to have left London by now, anyway. I could take over for him, if need be."

"I suppose Nymphadora didn't want you to go," Andromeda stated, and Rose confirmed with a shake of her head.

"She thinks it's dangerous. Well, everything is dangerous now. But their plan was good. They were going to Apparate the people whose wands had been confiscated to Dover, then take Thestrals and brooms to France. Remus should be in Dover by now, barring any ill chance. What would you think of my going?"

Andromeda frowned. "Is there a reason I couldn't just send a Patronus?"

"I'd be worried about drawing attention to them," Rose told her. "I could Apparate up the hill from them, though, perhaps near the lighthouse, and then walk down to the beach."

Andromeda nodded slowly. "That would give you a safe approach. Yes. I think if Remus is there, it would be as safe a place to find him as anywhere just now. Just- come with me a moment." She led Rose into her bedroom, to the closet, where she dug around a moment before withdrawing a pair of sturdy hiking boots.

"My wilderness boots. Ted had a notion to go camping years ago. They haven't gotten a lot of use since then," she added, a slight wry smile on her face. "But I don't like the thought of you trying to climb down to the water in the dark in those." She gestured toward Rose's more fashionable clog-style shoes.

Rose grinned. "You always do have an opinion about footwear, Andromeda." Andromeda smiled at her, and then scurried away to rejoin her daughter, who had just cried, "Merlin's BOLLOCKS, that hurt!" from the bedroom.

Rose Apparated, as she intended, to the far side of the lighthouse at Dover. She knew that it would be dark, of course, but she was not really prepared for how absolute the darkness would be. The sea was a mere mass of sound and wind, indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape. The white lighthouse seemed to glow weirdly, despite that the moon was at its crescent, and could hardly be seen for the clouds. Rose had wanted to approach without lighting her wand, but she soon found that a little light, to avoid tumbling over the steep approach and landing on sharp rocks, would be necessary.

Step by step, she made her way down the rocky path to the shore. It had required a Severing Charm and a quick Repair to the fence behind the lighthouse to even access the path; it was clearly not meant for tourists or for most unwary pedestrians even in the daylight. Rose was very grateful for Andromeda's boots as the last few feet required her to put her lit wand in her sleeve and grip at the side of the rocky incline.

Then, she had gained the beach, and she could both see and dimly hear a small knot of people around a hundred yards up the shore. " _Nox,_ " she muttered, though the wand light was only a dim glow in her sleeve at this point. The conversation of the people sounded more like an argument the closer she got to them. Suddenly, Remus' voice said, "There's someone there. Shh!"

"It's only Rose, Remus," Rose called quietly. The posture of his silhouette relaxed at once.

"I didn't know you were coming, Rosey," he said, and then turned toward the shape next to him. "Mrs Taylor, this is Rose Evans, another member of the Order of the Phoenix. Rose, Mrs. Taylor is expressing regret that she's come with us. She has expressed that she thinks remaining in her home would be less risky than flight across the Channel."

"I don't fly," came a woman's voice, high-pitched with anxiety. "I thought maybe we could Apparate. And I can't see a thing."

"Hestia will be with you," Remus promised her. But she said,

"Surely we're more likely to drown than to have our protective enchantments breached at home-?"

"It does seem rather extreme," came a male voice next to her.

"If I may," Rose interrupted him, and their dark shapes turned to her. "The last person I tried to persuade to accept the Order's help also refused it in the end. That was Mrs. Montgomery. Mother of Alexander Montgomery. Perhaps you have heard of that family?" The shapes had gone silent. "I can't imagine how frightened you must be. But the enemy are capable of doing worse, much worse than you can imagine, and their skill at breaking protective enchantments grows by the week. I can no longer live in my own flat. They will have no mercy if they find you."

After a brief silence, the male voice spoke again. "Ivy, let's just go. I read about the Montgomerys last year. It was . . . dreadful. And they didn't even have the Ministry then."

"How long will it take?" Mrs. Taylor asked, her voice shaky.

"Only a couple of hours to fly to Calais," Remus told her. Just then, there was the CRACK of Apparition and another small group of people appeared. Hestia Jones' voice came to them from a few yards away,

"This lot about ready to go, Remus?"

"I think so," Remus said, cautiously, but Mrs. Taylor's voice said, "I suppose. Yes. Thank you, Ms. Jones."

The small party was soon outfitted with brooms, their luggage attached to Thestrals' backs, and as they began to lift into the air, Remus said, "I'm glad you were here, Rose. I don't think I was ready to talk about the Montgomerys yet. But it was just what they needed to hear. You know," he added, as he watched the party assemble in the air, "We spend so much time in danger and fear, it seems incredible a night this peaceful could exist. That a mission could just go off like this, without a hitch . . . I've half a mind to join them," he said, nodding wistfully at the ocean.

"Better not," Rose told him. "In fact, it's time you got home. Tonks is having contractions."

Remus stood up rigidly as suddenly as if he'd been electrocuted. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he held out his arm for her to take. As soon as she took it, he Disapparated.

As they stepped into the garden at the Tonks' home, Rose told him, "The Healer thinks it will be a long time yet. It's her first child, and those tend to take longer than a few hours, you know, most of the time."

"I want to be with her," was all he said, and she had to run to keep up with him at the pace he set.

That night was one of the longest of Rose's life. Every time she struggled against her fatigue, though, she had only to listen to Tonks' moans or watch Remus' anxious face to feel her determination to be useful return to her. Tonks had been offered pain potions, but unlike Lily, she refused them.

"That'll make my head all funny, won't it?" she had asked the Healer.

"It can cause drowsiness, yes," the witch had admitted. "But surely you would prefer to be out of-"

"I want my head clear, thanks," Tonks had told her, before succumbing to another contraction. Still, after two more hours had passed, she consented to take a different, and much milder, pain potion from the Healer. It did not seem to offer her much relief, however. For hours, she labored in the Tonks' bathtub, gripping the edge and staring at the design on the tiles. She made low, throbbing noises that grew steadily louder, while Remus pressed his hands into her lower back to counter the pressure.

Rose followed the Healer's instructions and brewed a potion which would give Tonks strength and energy. She brought drinks and sweet smelling oils and took over for Remus in applying counter pressure when Remus needed to use the toilet, drink water, or get some fresh air. On one such break, Rose was pushing into Tonks' lower back with all her might, and concentrating so hard she almost didn't notice when Tonks' muscles went slack, indicating the contraction had ended. "Hey, Rose," Tonks' weary voice said.

"Hey Tonks," Rose said. "You're doing marvelously. Now who's the stone cold . . . what was it now?"

"Badass. Stone cold badass," Tonks supplied. "Thanks. Hey. I'm glad you're here."

"So am I," Rose whispered, feeling her energy and determination restored immediately.

Around mid-morning, there came an hour when Tonks had hardly a break between contractions. After a few earth-shaking, growling surges, she stood up from the bath very suddenly and said, "I want the potion."

Remus steadied her, looking a little alarmed. "I'll get the Healer," said Rose, from the hallway, and he nodded, holding onto Tonks and assisting her shaking efforts to get out of the bath.

When Rose and the Healer came bustling back in, the Healer examined a very agitated Tonks by the light of her wand (Tonks had been impatient with too much light, so the room was only lit by candles).

"I want that potion now," Tonks announced again, swaying, her eyes wild.

"Too late," the Healer told her, a satisfied expression on her face. "You can't afford to be that sleepy now. It's time to push."

Rose, who only swore in French, herself, kept a private list of her favorite of the curses Tonks uttered over the next hour. "MERLIN'S BLOODY BALLS!" and "FUCKING SHIT-COATED PIXIES!" were among her favorites. In vain did the Healer urge Tonks to stop shouting and use her strength for the task at hand. After a while, she seemed to recognize that bellowing these curses was helping, rather than hindering, Tonks' efforts. Similarly, no one could persuade Tonks to lie down while she strained to birth her child; she climbed, crawled, squatted, and pulled at Remus' arms, until pure exhaustion found her lying on her side while Remus held her hands.

Rose brought him a cool washcloth which had been dipped in Andromeda's lavender water, and he mopped her forehead with it. Before the next push, Rose saw them exchange a look so full of love, trust, and understanding, that Rose wondered, not for the first time, if she ought to leave. But at the push after that, Tonks reached for Rose's hand, and with her other hand in Remus', while Andromeda mopped her forehead and spoke soft words of encouragement, the baby emerged.

During the flurry of actively which followed, during which no eyes in the room were dry except the Healer's, Rose sank back into her chair and watched as if from many miles away. Her tired mind indulged in a wistful dream of Sirius welcoming his child, their child, the way Remus was delightedly welcoming his own. Would she want Sirius to see her thus? Rose wondered. Would she be able to do what Tonks had just done, and would she want Sirius to be with her in such a state? _Oh yes,_ she answered herself, as Remus and Tonks shared a deep kiss, their son wailing on Tonks' chest. _He would have been perfect_ _at this,_ she decided, and the tears for Tonks and Remus' happiness mingled, without anyone's knowing it, with tears for the scene she would never see, of Sirius holding his newborn child and smiling tenderly at her.

Impatiently, she wiped her tears away and kissed Tonks' forehead. "You were brilliant," she told her friend, who squeezed her hand and said, startlingly, "Be godmother?"

"Harry's going to be godfather," Remus told her, with a smile so wide it seemed a permanent feature, now.

Rose felt her face crumple, and knowing it was too late to fight the tears, gave a laughing sob and said, "I'd be honored."

Remus returned from Shell Cottage that night with news that Harry had accepted the responsibility of godfather, and the next week was a period of happiness and tranquility as few of them had seen in many months. Everyone in the little fellowship who had welcomed Teddy Tonks into the world, seemed unable to leave him. All took their turns holding him, giving the bouncing motion he liked best, and gazing into his changeable eyes. While Rose held him one afternoon, Remus stood nearby, stroking Teddy's small cheek and actually singing to him.

"I didn't know you sang," Rose remarked, smiling.

"Only when drunk," he told her, stroking his son's hair, now.

"I think you've been drunk for Teddy's whole life, Remy," she said. He only laughed, and took Teddy from her again. He could not hold the child long or often enough, it seemed.

A few days later, however, there came a moment when Remus did put Teddy down in his crib, kiss his forehead, and pull the door almost closed. When he came into the living room, where Andromeda and Tonks were sitting on a couch looking at Tonks' baby pictures and Rose was standing, she cleared her throat.

"Remus. A word? In the kitchen?"

He followed her and when they were behind the closed French doors, she drew the warm coin from her pocket for his inspection. On one side, where the serial number for most Galleons usually was, the numbers spelled out that day's date: 01051998. On the other, for the first time, words took the place of the Gringotts Bank identification: _Harry is back_ , they read. _We're fighting._


	43. Third Flower Chapter 44

**Chapter 44: Distillation**

 **A.N. The Battle of Hogwarts began at midnight on the 2nd of May, 1998, and took even more precious lives before it concluded. This is what war does: it takes and it takes. But in crushing people, it also draws out the most precious essences of their humanity: the perfume of their lives.**

 **My baby arrived four weeks ago! Thank you for your good wishes. She is healthy and thriving, and very sweetly slept for the past two hours so that I could finish the last pages of this chapter.**

 **Thank you for your reviews, and for the follows and favorites! The end is near, at least for this little fic.**

As far as she knew, Rose was the only adult who had received her message through enchanted coin. Remus soon sent Patronuses to Kingsley, to the Burrow, to Shell Cottage, and to the house of Dedalus Diggle, asking that each recipient, in turn, send Patronuses to other members. As Remus and Rose were walking to the Apparition point of the Tonks' house, a silver hyena bounded up to them and spoke with Fred Weasley's voice:

"Hullo all! Harry's back at Hogwarts; the DA's been summoned to fight. They say the Head Death Eater himself might just stop by! Why don't you Order types come and join? It's sure to be a lark." The hyena then grinned, turned tail, and streaked away.

Rose looked at Remus, who shook his head. "They're taking this about as seriously as James and Sirius took the first war," he commented.

"Bless them," said Rose affectionately. She turned to Tonks, who was standing on the front stoop. Teddy was asleep in his crib. "We'll send word as soon as we can," she told her. Tonks only nodded. Her eyes, though they were red-rimmed, were dry, and she lifted a hand in farewell as Remus and Rose joined hands and Disapparated.

When she and Remus arrived in the pub, they found Molly and Arthur Weasley conversing with a rather surly looking white-bearded man. This was the first time Rose had seen Aberforth Dumbledore, never having visited The Hog's Head during her time at Hogwarts, but she recognized him immediately. His expression, manner of dress, and voice were quite different, but his eyes brought Albus to her mind immediately.

"I suppose you're wanting to get over to the school too, to try and throw yourselves in front of some Death Eaters?" he asked them harshly.

"We are coming to help protect the school and students, yes, Aberforth," Remus answered him. Aberforth only shook his head and grumbled as he led them to the fireplace, where the portrait of a sweet-looking blonde girl was hanging.

"This lot wants to come through too, Ari," he told her, and she smiled, just before he opened the portrait like a door and motioned for the four adults to pass through.

They emerged from the end of a long tunnel into a brightly lit room full of young people. Rose spotted Ron and Hermione immediately among many other members of Dumbledore's Army, and though the Weasleys made a beeline for them, Rose stood still. She searched the room for Harry, but she could not find him anywhere. Soon, she and Remus were joined by Bill, Fleur, and Kingsley, and they had to move over to make room for each new arrival. Rose felt dazed, overwhelmed. Voices and bodies surrounded them, but they were a blur on her senses. Then a voice behind her said her name.

"Professor Evans! Excellent! Glad you could make it to our little party!"

Fred and George Weasely were standing behind her, next to Lee Jordan. "I'm doing a bit of a Hogwarts post-doc, Professor," Lee said jovially. "I was thinking of some field experience in the area of protest and civil disobedience. Will you be my advisor?"

Flooded with sudden warmth, Rose smiled. "Certainly! It is an unconventional method of study, but is sure to be effective. And it has the advantage of involving no paperwork."

"That's my favorite method of study!" George cried.

"Hear, hear," said Fred.

Rose talked with her former students for several minutes; she was pleased to catch up with Katie Bell when she arrived alongside Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnett. They were in the middle of catching Rose up on their post-Hogwarts doings when the room suddenly became hushed. Luna Lovegood and Harry had just come into view in the hallway.

Harry stopped, staggered by the sight of so many people, and as his eyes swept the room, they caught Rose's for a moment. She smiled at him in what she hoped was an encouraging way, but he only looked aghast.

Remus approached the door. "Harry, what's happening?" he asked.

Rose was at the other end of the room, so she did not catch every word which passed between Harry and Lupin, but she distinctly heard him say, "Voldemort's on his way," which communicated worlds to her. _If Harry is saying his name after everything that has passed, then the time for caution and deliberation is truly past,_ she thought, and edged closer to hear what Harry said next.

Fred was explaining to Harry how they had gotten word to the older DA members and the Order of the Phoenix ("You can't expect everyone to miss the fun, Harry"). When George asked Harry what was going on, Harry said simply,

"They're evacuating the younger kids and everyone's meeting in the Great Hall to get organized. We're fighting."

He looked at Lupin, and then at Rose as he said this. Rose nodded to him as a great cheer went up at Harry's words. And then the majority of the people in the room were off in a rumbling swell, into the corridors of the school. Rose noticed that Harry, Remus, and the Weasleys had remained behind, and she sidled up to them while Kingsley waited at the door.

"One of these days you're going to have to tell me all your stories," she told Harry, while his eyes darted between her and the scene at the back of the room. Ginny was arguing with her mother about whether she should be allowed to fight.

Harry tore his eyes from Ginny and looked at Rose. "Are you doing all right?"

"I'm fine. You're the one who looks like a battlefield." Harry's hair had grown to his shoulders, now, and since she had last seen him he had accumulated quite a few minor injuries. She was sure that many of the marks on his arms, hands, and face were burns.

"I'm OK," he said shortly. And his eyes went back to Ginny. Rose remembered that they had broken up, "for a stupid, noble reason," according to Ginny. He seemed too distracted to have further conversation with Rose, so she turned to Kingsley.

"Shall we assist with the evacuation?" he asked her, and she nodded and followed him out of the Room and into the corridor.

As it turned out, the evacuation was not yet underway when Kingsley and Rose arrived in the Great Hall. Students were still trickling out of bed in pairs and groups, pyjama-clad and confused. Some had clearly just woken up, while others looked more clear-eyed and spoke to each other in anxious undertones. Their first task had been to round the students up and bring them to the Great Hall where Minerva McGonagall would address them.

Severus Snape had fled the school. The general consensus among both students and staff alike was that he was, really and truly, a Death Eater in good standing, and certainly in Voldemort's service. Rose found herself remembering what Snape had said to her, over a year ago, when she had finally learned to brew Wolfsbane.

"There may be a time," he told her then, speaking of Voldemort, "when he will no longer countenance any apparent disloyalty. I may need to prove my allegiance by abandoning my position here."

The back of Rose's mind kept contemplating Snape as she and Kingsley led group after group of students into the Great Hall. _Did he hint at his future actions because he intended to remain loyal to the Order, but knew he would have to act as if he were not? Or did he only say it to try to keep my trust? Even as he committed himself to treachery and prepared to join the Death Eaters once again-?_ Snape's long, sallow face was in her mind. She remembered his expression when he said that Lily would be proud of her success with Wolfsbane; her thoughts on both sides of the question were saturated with doubt.

Minerva McGonagall presided over the assembly in the Great Hall. Once Harry and the rest of the Dumbledore's Army contingent had arrived, she addressed them from the platform, giving direction for the order of evacuation, and answering those who wished to fight with qualified permission: "If you are of age," she told Ernie MacMillan, "you may stay."

When, moments later, she alluded to Snape's having "done a bunk" that evening, Rose did not miss the utter contempt in her voice. _He's convinced them all of his guilt, for better or for worse,_ she thought. She wondered even as she thought this why the question of Snape's allegiance should seem important to her just now. She supposed it was because the preparations for battle at Hogwarts had so much the appearance of a last stand. _It would be a timely moment for Severus to strike a blow for our side,_ she thought, as she watched Harry's figure pacing up and down the Hall.

And then Minerva's instructions were overwhelmed by a chilling voice which seemed to pour forth from the very walls.

"I know that you are preparing to fight," it said. Rose, along with nearly everyone else, gasped, and looked frantically around for the speaker. "Your efforts are futile," it continued. "You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you, I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood." Dimly Rose was able to wonder as she listened in horror and disgust, whether Tom Riddle would consider her own blood, and the blood of the other listening Muggle-borns, to be magical.

"Give me Harry Potter," Voldemort demanded next, "and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you shall be rewarded. You have until midnight."

Rose, like all the rest of those assembled in the Hall, looked at Harry at Voldemort's closing words. She thought she had never loved him as much as she did that moment. And when Pansy Parkinson called out that they should grab him for Voldemort, she thought she had never before felt hatred for a student. Her very bones felt charged as she and everyone in his house immediately drew their wands and stepped between Harry and the Slytherin table, to be joined by the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. And then the whole scene disappeared as blinding pain filled Rose's head.

The same voice as before seemed to reverberate within Rose's skull.

 _And I see you, Rose Evans. Do not think I do not know what you have done this year, in your insolence and your infinite foolishness. So great is your concern for those who have died opposing me that it is clear you wish to join them._

 _But I shall not make it a quick death. Hide where you will, there will be no avoiding me. Your agony will be the greatest of all who die tonight. Fight while you may. I will find you in the end._

When the voice ceased, Rose realised she had fallen to her hands and knees on the floor. She opened her eyes to see Harry's face looking at her in concern. "Rose. _Tata._ What is it? Are you all right?" he was asking her, his green eyes wide.

She swallowed and let out a shaking breath before answering. "Yes. It's- it's nothing for you to worry about, Harry." He looked utterly unconvinced, but McGonagall had come dashing up to them.

"Potter," she said, " _Aren't you supposed to be looking for something?"_

"Something's wrong with Rose," he protested.

"We will take care of your aunt, Potter," she told him. Some of her usual briskness was missing from her voice.

"Harry. Listen to me." Rose had sat up and was leaning toward her nephew, gripping his arm. "His doom is on him. You can finish it, Dumbledore knew you could. _I_ know you can. End him, and you end it for all of us. Go, darling," she added, when he still hesitated. Then he nodded, stood, and ran toward the entrance hall.

* * *

It was over an hour before most of the defenders of the castle saw combat. The first effort was all toward reinforcing the school against attack, using everything from Mandrakes to animated suits of armor and enchanted stone gargoyles. Rose joined Arthur and Remus in setting up the same sorts of protective enchantments they had set over the Montgomerys' home, and the homes of countless Muggles and others vulnerable to Death Eaters since the second War began.

Under the starry sky, on the relative quiet of the grounds, the Order members who spread themselves around the perimeter of the castle grounds worked at their enchantments like weavers at an enormous loom. Rose was reminded of their dancing at the Christmas Party at Grimmauld Place, which seemed a decade ago now. She felt again that they were weaving a heavy, solid fabric, woven with the fibers of defiance and love. And at that moment, Rose knew that she belonged to this patch of land in Scotland, the site of their final fight against Voldemort, more than she had ever belonged to Beauxbatons.

The enchantments kept the Death Eaters out for a time. They could see them, dark figures on the grass, some with lit wands, throwing spells at the invisible barrier that surrounded the school. The defenders spread themselves over the grounds, reinforcing the spells as one would darn a sock. But then there was a shout from Remus, and Rose spun round to see several Death Eaters surrounding a tall, pale figure whose skin shone in the dark. He lifted his wand hand, but before he began his assault upon the barrier to the castle, he looked directly at Rose. The same pain that had reached her in the great hall engulfed her head again.

 _I would run, if I were you_ , came his voice in her head, sounding cold and faintly amused. And then the pain ceased, and she got to her feet, and he was chanting his counter-spells against their protection. Rose and the other defenders were inside Hogwarts' gates before they heard the victorious shouts of the Death Eaters who were the first to attack the school.

The fighting was very different from the fighting she had done at the Ministry, or inside Hogwarts the previous year, or even at Bill and Fleur's wedding. All was dark, and at first, confused. Bodies streaked by, and unless they stopped and attacked, it was very hard to tell which side they were on. Rose was able to Stun one Death Eater, but she merely avoided the curses of the others. She found herself edging closer and closer to the castle itself, feeling the need for both light and a wall at her back.

As she did so, she became aware that defenders of the castle were firing spells from windows. " _STUPIFY_!" came a voice that sounded very much like Tonks, but though Rose craned her neck at the window she could not make out any faces. And then she was berating herself for her stupidity, for there were Death Eaters upon her and she needed all of her quick reflexes and school training to keep them from having the advantage. Here Rose quickly saw the disadvantage of her position, so near to the light of the castle: her enemies could recognize her immediately. And tonight, they all fought to kill.

It crossed her mind as she sent Stunners and Body-Bind jinxes at her foes that perhaps the time had come to meet deadly force with deadly force. It did not seem likely that anyone would blame the defenders of Hogwarts, should the war actually end and the events of that evening come to light, for killing those that sought to kill them.

But as Rose dodged a Killing Curse and parried with a Stunner that connected with a short, squat Death Eater, she thought of Harry, Disarming Death Eaters in the sky that last summer. _Harry would never duel to kill,_ she decided. And she wondered, between conflicts with the attackers, what he was doing, how many Horcruxes they had left to destroy, and if, after losing the Sword to Griphook, they had found another way to destroy them. Far from distracting her, she found that thinking of Harry renewed her determination to fight, so that she soon found herself moving further from the castle, pursuing the Death Eaters rather than waiting to be pursued.

At one point, after blocking a spell from a Death Eater who turned and fled when she attacked him, Rose was momentarily alone. Except, in the sudden quiet which followed, she was able to make out a rustling noise, the sound a robe would make if it swept over the dry leaves behind the shrubbery. And then there came a whisper.

"Rose Evans."

Her whole body tensed at first, thinking that it was Voldemort himself who stood in the shadow of the towering hedge. But no; that was not his chilling voice, nor was the voice accompanied by the pain which she had learned to associate with Voldemort. This voice was low, cold, but not menacing, and as it spoke her name again she realized it was also familiar.

"Miss Evans. A word?"

"Severus?" she whispered.

"Yes," he replied. "I will not harm you. I wish… to communicate something." When she only stood, frozen with uncertainty, her wand arm still raised, he added, "Please."

She knew she had only seconds to decide what to do before someone was sure to find them, either a Death Eater to attack her, or a Hogwarts defender who would probably attack Snape. "Quickly," was all she said, and when he disappeared back into the hedge, she followed him. When they were both concealed in the narrow space between the hedges and the courtyard wall, Snape murmured, " _Muffliato."_ And then they were facing one another.

In the dim light, Rose could not make out his expression. She decided to be blunt. "You killed Albus Dumbledore," she stated.

"I do not deny it," he answered.

"Why?"

"He was dying. We agreed upon it, as a last resort. He preferred it."

Rose's mind was spinning. Never had Severus given her such blunt information so quickly, and she had a thousand questions. Why was Dumbledore dying? How did they know? He preferred being killed by Severus- to what other death, exactly? But she gave voice to none of these questions, asking instead,

"Whose side are you on, Severus?"

"Yours. Dumbledore's," he said simply.

 _Why should I believe you?_ Was on her tongue, but instead Rose settled for a simple, "Why?"

"Lily," was his equally simple answer. But the single word confirmed what she had suspected for years.

"You loved her," Rose said. It was not a question.

He went silent for a moment, and then said only, "Yes." But that single word contained more emotion than she'd ever heard in his voice before.

"How can I believe you?" was her next question, though if she was honest with herself, she believed him already. She supposed she wanted an argument which would convince anyone besides herself, Minerva perhaps, or Harry, if she was to be asked to explain or defend him.

Rose thought she could make out Snape's face, twisting into something which resembled his accustomed sneer. "You may not. But Potter must. He will, when he sees this." Snape reached into his sleeve, and Rose stepped back, raising her wand. But he only withdrew a small object, impossible to see in the dark, but clearly not a wand. He held it out to her silently and waited until Rose lowered her wand and took the object from him. She felt it: a small, stoppered phial, heavy with some liquid.

"A potion?" she asked, uncertainly.

"A memory. Or rather, several memories. Potter- Harry. He must see them. He must know what he must do, the last piece of the puzzle. The last step to ending Him." Snape stayed very still while he spoke, but his eyes glittered in the dark.

It was perhaps his use of her nephew's name, the first time she had heard him call Harry by his name, that solidified it for Rose. He was sincere.

"So you want me to find Harry and give him these memories. _Your_ memories?" she asked, now looking fixedly into what she could see of his face.

"Yes, they are my memories. And they explain- everything. Except one thing. You must tell him that Dumbledore believed he would be able to return. Tell him just that: he is bound to his enemy, and so, he will be able to return."

"He will be able to return," Rose repeated. "I suppose this will make more sense to him than it does to me?"

"After he has seen the memories, yes. Do you know where he is?"

"He is in the castle, looking for something. Or, he was when I last saw him."

Snape nodded, as if he expected this. "Then, you will have more success than I in finding him." There was a shout from outside the gate, followed by the loudest, most sonorous bellow Rose had ever heard. "HAGGER?" it queried, and then the creature's reverberating footfalls entered the gate. Another incredibly loud, deeper roar seemed to answer it, and the ground outside where Rose and Snape stood shook.

"Giants?" Rose gasped.

"Yes," he replied. His voice was almost bored. "I must go. Make sure the boy sees what is in that," he said, gesturing toward the phial in Rose's hand. He turned, and began to step noiselessly away from her.

"Wait," Rose said, and he stopped. "You're not- are you going back to _him?"_ she asked.

"If I must, yes. There is little else I can do, now." His voice was resigned. And suddenly Rose was filled with a powerful melancholy. This unpleasant, bitter man, who had loved her sister, who had protected her and Harry despite himself, who had taught her to make Wolfsbane for a man he loathed, this man was going back into profound danger. To what end? The despondency of his face as he turned back away from her cut to her heart. Before she could think any further, Rose stepped carefully and sideways through the protruding hedge branches until she was nearly touching him. He stepped back at first, but she placed a hand on his arm and said, softly, "Severus."

He froze. She could think of no other words to say, so she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. His eyes, which she could now see clearly, went wide. Clumsily, he patted her hand twice, and then, with a stricken expression, slid silently out of the hedge. In a moment, he was through the gate.

"Snape!" she heard a Death Eater greet him. "We're looking for a tunnel inside."

"Then, no doubt you will find one," Snape's voice drawled, and then both of their voices went out of her hearing.

* * *

 _Where was Harry?_ This question began to beat in her veins more insistently by the minute once Rose had fought her way to the entrance hall, then into the Great Hall, then through the first-floor corridors. She had not realized there were so many Death Eaters; either they had been recruiting in huge numbers since the last time the Order had staked out one of their meetings, or they had somehow managed to defy Gamp's Elemental Laws of Transfiguration and duplicate human beings. No sooner would Rose have Disarmed, or Stunned, or simply outrun one masked fighter than another would appear around the next corridor, or from behind a crowd of Hogwartians.

Outside, the battle raged noisily. Rose occasionally saw or heard something which made her feel a fleeting desire to dash outside the castle. Especially did she struggle to keep her focus on finding Harry when Tonks came hurtling around a corner and nearly ran into her. Rose had managed to stun and bind Thorfinn Rowle a moment before.

"Tonks! What's happened? Is Teddy-?"

"He's fine," Tonks said breathlessly. "I just- I couldn't wait. Have you seen Remus?"

"Not for a while. Have you seen Harry?" But Tonks had already rounded the corner and was out of earshot. Rose felt a terrible chill, then. The look on Tonks' face, half stubbornness, half intrepid courage, made her look very much like Sirius.

Rose felt the phial in her robe pocket, and willed herself to continue the search for Harry. On the second floor, she encountered Ginny in the company of three of her brothers, none of whom turned out to be Ron. All four were engaged in lobbing some sort of explosives out of a window that looked as if it had been half destroyed by giants.

"Have any of you seen Harry?" Rose asked them, hurrying forward to steady Ginny, who looked about to join a large chunk of the castle in falling onto the grounds.

"Not for a while!" Ginny replied. "He and Ron and Hermione sent us all out of the Room of Requirement; they said they needed it for something." Ginny's face was scratched, her hair wild, but she had a look of exhilaration mixed with fear on her face that drew Rose's admiration, even in her desperation to find Harry. Rose felt that she would like to stay with her, with all the Weasleys she could find, and but for the phial in her pocket she would have done so.

"I have to find him; there's something he needs to know," she said over her shoulder by way of explanation as she dashed away from them to the stairs.

On the seventh floor, Rose paced back and forth in front of the room, trying to concentrate on asking the room to become the place it had become for Harry instead of on the fleeting glimpses of brawling giants she kept getting from the window. Over and over again she attempted it, but the door simply would not appear. She had feared as much. She knew enough about the room from Harry's fruitless attempts to find Draco Malfoy the previous year to know that one needed a very specific idea of what the Room was to become in order to find it, and that when it was in use, there was no hope of it becoming anything else.

Rose gripped the sides of her head to try to rein in her panic. After a few steadying breaths, she had just made up her mind to stake out in front of the Room and fight off any enemy who made it that far, when she was distracted by the view from the window. The giants had moved to a different portion of the castle; instead, Rose was horrified to see Tonks and Remus dueling three Death Eaters. They were fighting impressively together, but Rose did not like their odds.

Still, she might have stayed where she was for the sake of Severus' message had not a fourth Death Eater joined the other three. Bellatrix LeStrange came into view, attacking Tonks with a wild, yet deadly energy. Tonks' scream of outrage and fear quickly gave way to increasingly desperate fighting. Rose could no longer stay where she was. _I will have to come back and find Harry afterwards_ , was all she could think before she pounded down the stairs and began to fight her way to the grounds. Ginny, Percy, and the twins passed her on the stairs, but Rose did not spare a moment to explain herself. Within minutes, she was in the place where Remus and Tonks had been fighting, only to find that neither was there any longer. What she found, instead, were spiders.

Time had long ago lost meaning. Rose spent the next minutes (or, perhaps, hours?) in the company of Hogwarts students and professors, defending herself and those around her from a numberless hoard of the enormous spiders. It was there that she suffered her first real injury of the battle, for despite her vigilance she was caught off guard while throwing curses at the spiders who surrounded Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, she tripped over another hairy spider and found herself under several of their horribly crawling bodies before she could right herself.

A sharp pain in her ankle made her cry out; one of the spiders had bitten her. And then, they were all off of her, blasted by someone's spell, and a hand was extended to help her up. Neville Longbottom helped her to her feet, asking, "All right, Professor?" before he sent another curse at a different spider.

The pain in her ankle did not diminish, but she could not afford to attend to it. Hagrid had come charging into the herd of spiders, yelling, "Don't hurt 'em, don't hurt 'em!" before being overcome himself and borne away by the very spiders he was trying to protect. At that moment, Harry appeared from nowhere, shouting after Hagrid and running bent over because of the volume of spells filling the air.

"HARRY!" Rose shouted at him.

He did not seem to hear; instead, he charged away from the castle and into the grounds, bellowing "HAGRID!" as he ran. Rose tried to pursue him, but the pain in her ankle made her progress slow. Ron and Hermione soon overtook her and blew past her, Hermione only stopping to throw her an anguished look before continuing to pursue Harry.

As far as Rose could tell, they were headed in the direction of the Whomping Willow and the Forest, rather than the Quidditch Pitch or the Lake. She limped along, stopping occasionally to throw up a Shield Charm or cast a Stunner on a Death Eater. But these were fewer the further she went from the school. At the edge of the forest, Rose was overtaken again by runners.

Bellatrix LeStrange, cackling madly, was being chased by a sobbing, shouting woman; before Rose could make out who she was, she tripped over what turned out to be a body. Her heart in her throat and her ankle still throbbing, Rose pushed the body over and felt her blood freeze. It was Remus.

Frantically she reached out a hand to feel for a pulse, even as Bellatrix stopped and turned to confront her pursuer. Tonks. Rose's stomach seized.

"One blood traitor deserves another!" Bellatrix exclaimed, easily parrying Tonks' hex. "You should be thanking me, little cousin!" she continued, while Tonks tried and failed to hit her with curse after curse. "The dog you married was rabid!"

There was no pulse to feel. No breath fell on Rose's outstretched hand. Bellatrix had killed her surrogate brother, one of her best, and only remaining, friends. And with this realization, Rose leaped to her feet and joined Tonks in sending curses flying at Bellatrix, who could no longer be ignorant of her presence.

"Ah, haha! There she is! The Mudblood, whom the Dark Lord is so eager to meet! You must no longer keep him waiting, girl! I shall bring you to his feet myself, shall I?" she asked, her face fierce and her cruel eyes dancing. She was more than a match for Tonks and Rose's combined efforts, but they kept her busy. Tonks' grief had made her clumsier on her feet even than usual, but her volley of spells was unrelenting. Rose tried to time her own hexes so that they fell just after Tonks', hoping to overwhelm their foe, but Bellatrix only laughed and danced, seeming to duel them for sheer enjoyment. As the minutes passed, Rose noticed that Bellatrix tried with every spell to kill Tonks, but she never used worse than a few _Crucios_ on Rose, and the back of her mind wondered at this. None of the Cruciatus curses connected with Rose, but it took all that she could do to keep up with even half of Bellatrix's ability. Here, at last, was a truly formidable foe.

And then Bellatrix seemed to become bored with the situation. She didn't slow her pace, but she seemed to run out of taunts for them and at last said, "Enough. Enough of you-" and she sent a jet of green light at Tonks that connected, and Tonks fell to the earth like a rag doll. Bellatrix took advantage of Rose's scream of fear and fury to land a curse on her, and Rose too fell to the earth.

All was pain, pain that had had no beginning and would never end except in her death. Rose's whole body became a living node of pain; she herself had become a scream. And she screamed, and she screamed, and she would live out the rest of her life screaming, until abruptly, it all stopped.

She was gasping for breath, her face in the dirt. The pounding footsteps and shrieking laugh had nearly faded from her hearing by the time Rose was able to raise her head and realize that she was still alive. She looked over the grass to where Tonks had fallen and saw her sightless eyes staring just above Rose's head. In the distance, Rose heard Bellatrix's voice call out to her from the direction of the Forbidden Forest,

"Your death will be at the Dark Lord's pleasure, Mudblood! And it will be my very great pleasure to watch!"

Rose could not have justified her decision to get to her feet and limp after Bellatrix. After all, she could not have caught up with her, nor could she probably have hoped to defeat her in a duel. But somehow in Rose's mind, Tonks' and Remus' deaths were not fully real, and might not be real if she could only reach Bellatrix. She limped as quickly as she could, brushing away tears as she screamed,

" _Salope! Espèce de grosse merde! Lâche!1_ Fight me, then!"

Rose turned her limp into a painful run for a few paces, then fell heavily to the ground when her uninjured foot caught in a hole in the ground. She grunted, and cried out in frustration as she sensed a sprain in her other foot.

There was a distant cackle, and then a much nearer shout. "BELLA!" A rough voice sounded. "Is this the Mudblood? She is to be delivered to the Dark Lord; you know that." Rose was struggling to her feet when heard the man's " _Incarcerous!"_ and felt the cords encircle her body as she fell to the ground yet again.

"But it's so much more fun to watch her chase me, Rody!" Bellatrix's voice, closer now, had a strange kind of appealing little whine to it as she answered the man Rose realized must be her husband, Rodolphus.

"Never mind your games," the man said harshly, but was prevented from saying more by another resonant projection of Voldemort's high voice. Rose whimpered involuntarily at the sound.

"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery," it said. "Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste." Rodolphus and Bellatrix stood at attention while the voice spoke, though Rodolphus kept his eyes on Rose.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful," the voice continued. "I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour…"

The voice continued, but at that moment Rodolphus spat, "Wait here, Mudblood. _Stupify."_ And Rose knew no more.

She must have hit her head during one of her many falls to the ground, Rose decided, for her skull throbbed as she came to, still face down in the dirt. She felt the cords Rodolphus had bound her with still cutting into her skin, but she also felt her wand, still in her hand. " _Relashio,"_ she muttered, and the cords fell away.

As she struggled to her hands and knees, though, Rose understood the reason for the pain in her head, for it surged with the intrusion of Voldemort's voice again.

 _I will kill Harry Potter tonight, Rose Evans,_ it said, _and when I can spare the time, I will come for what is left of you._

When the pain and the voice subsided, Rose opened her eyes and saw the starry sky go black. The air went very cold.

And then she was surrounded. Dementors glided all around her, like silent, graceful vultures and she knew that all was lost. Voldemort's forces would surely overcome the Hogwarts defenders. Remus and Tonks, now her closest friends, were dead. How many others were dead? Sirius had fallen, fallen, fallen away from her behind the black curtain and even his whispers did not reach her now.

Her mind's eye was crowded with the dead, but she could not remember them alive. She only remembered their deaths, and the horrible clench in her stomach and the echoing emptiness in her heart when she learned of their deaths.

Her parents, their bodies broken by the crush of an automobile…

James and Lily, killed far away from her in a flash of green light…

Sirius, gone,

Emmeline Vance, gone,

Dumbledore, gone,

Remus,

Tonks,

each death like stones piled on her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe and impossible to stand.

 _Owls soared around the ceiling of the Volière, each wailing, a cacophony of the hideous sounds of grief circling her head._

All the beautiful dreams of her childhood, of dancing, the lovely sound of music, the softness of beautiful fabrics, the smells and sights of faraway cities, were gone, and all had come to this: the loss of her soul on a muddy stretch of ground in Scotland under an opaque, starless sky. The moon could not help her now, and she would surely die here, the phial still in her pocket, unable to get to Harry.

 _Harry_. She could see him in her thoughts, his serious green eyes and sudden mischievous smiles under his mess of black hair. _Goodbye, Harry_ , she thought. _I'm so sorry. I tried._

But at the thought of her nephew, something in Rose stirred. All was dark, the Dementors were very near, but she remembered what Voldemort had said: "I will kill Harry Potter tonight." Harry was not yet dead. Harry was still alive, Harry, her little friend, Lily's baby, her family, he was still alive.

In an instant, Rose seemed to see dozens of memories of Harry at once: Harry, playing Dudley's Playstation and laughing; Harry, leaning forward confidentially over tea in her office; Harry, applauding the performance at _The Globe_ , his eyes wide with enjoyment; Harry, hugging her after Sirius' death; Harry, blithely calling her Auntie and disappearing under his Cloak.

 _Harry_. There was, after all, one person she could love who was still alive. All her hopes were not, in fact, gone, and as Rose felt the spark of life kindle inside her she also felt the hard wood of her cedar wand in her hand.

But she had never been able to cast a Patronus before, and her hope faltered. And yet- thought was following thought with breathless rapidity- she was not the woman she had been when she had last attempted a Patronus, lying on the bed next to Sirius. She was certainly not the girl she had been in _Contre_ classes. Rose had always hoped that Remus would teach her to cast a Patronus as he taught Harry, but instead, he taught her to cry, and to grieve, and not to fear her feelings. And perhaps, perhaps that was good enough after all-

For as Severus had said, it was not a matter of the degree of one's happiness, but of one's ability to concentrate on that happiness. With an abandon that she had never known before, Rose opened her whole body and soul to the feeling of joy prompted by the idea of Harry, alive before her. _Harry is alive_ , she allowed her whole mind to open to hope. She was crying, but she didn't care. _Harry is my family, and we will laugh together again. Harry, I haven't given up, Harry!_

The closest Dementors leaned toward her, greedy for the taste of the hope and the happiness that filled her, but Rose cried out with a conviction she had never felt before, _"Expecto Patronum!"_ and a large silver shape flew from her wand. The Dementors fell away from its dazzling light.

It flew- yes, flew, for the silvery shape was, quite clearly, a snowy owl- in ever-widening circles around Rose until every last hooded figure had fled and Rose was alone under a starry sky.

She watched the Patronus for several minutes, basking in the exhilaration of its flight, until she thought of Harry and his danger. The silver owl flickered and nearly went out, but she steadied herself and beckoned to the bird. There was a trick to imparting words to one's Patronus; you had to think an incantation. Rose had never learned the gist of it as she had never before been able to produce a Patronus at all. _Perhaps he will understand if he sees it? He may know that I am looking for him, and find me_ , she thought. She said aloud to the bright owl at the center of the silvery light, "Find him. Go and find Harry, please."

With a shimmering toss of its head, the bird lifted into the air and flew away in the direction of the Forest. But there was no return of the Dementors. Rose was still sitting alone in an exhausted daze when Kingsley Shacklebolt, pacing the grounds in search of any more bodies to collect, found her.

He lifted her in his arms. "You need Madam Pomphrey, Rose," he told her firmly as he strode toward the castle, carrying her in front of him, her head bobbing on his shoulder.

"I need to find Harry. I've done it, Kingsley! My Patronus. It's gone to find Harry. He's alive. I have to find him, Kingsley, where is Harry?" she jabbered, and he patted her head soothingly.

"There, now. We'll find him as soon as we can. Let's get you patched up." And Rose had no more strength to argue.

* * *

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, Harry marched, the silvery shapes of his mother, father, Lupin, and Sirius forming a kind of honor guard around him as he went. His father's words, _Until the very end_ , were still ringing in his ears when another silvery shape joined them, not walking but flying above all of their heads. He looked up at it in dreamy wonder.

"Hedwig?"

How fitting that she had come. How fitting that she, like the shapes of his human protectors, was helping to ward off the Dementors that had been gliding through the forest minutes ago. He was walking to his own death, and he knew it, but when the silvery snowy owl alighted on his shoulder and nipped his ear affectionately, improbably, Harry smiled.

* * *

1 "Bitch! You piece of fucking shit! Coward!"


	44. Third Flower Chapter 45

**Chapter 45: Pyriscence**

 **A.N. This has been a heavy sixteen months. I've been writing through multiple miscarriages, a fraught pregnancy, my postpartum struggles and now, a global pandemic. This fic has been the place where my joy in Jo Rowling's world can meet my efforts to sort through sorrow, grief, and struggle. Now at a time when so many of us feel isolated, I hope we all find spaces to remind us that we're not alone. We're struggling together, we're grieving together, and together we'll find that love is enough. Survive first, then live. _Expecto Patronum._**

 **The Battle at Hogwarts is on the 2nd of May. The scenes in Rose's flat take place on the 17th of May. The final scene takes place in early June, 1998.**

Harry was dead.

Rose's stomach seized as Voldemort's magically magnified voice rang out from the grounds.

"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

The chemistry of her body changed so quickly that Rose wildly looked around her, sure she would see a return of the dementors that had tormented her by the edge of the forest. There were none. With difficulty, Rose focused her attention on Kingsley, whose face had appeared in front of her as Voldemort's voice died away.

"I can bring you with me," he said, and she nodded mutely. Madame Pomphrey's store of potions and poultices had been stretched to the breaking point by the casualties of the battle; she not yet been able to attend to Rose. At the moment of Voldemort's announcement, the matron had been bending over a whimpering Lavender Brown.

Kingsley bent down and lifted Rose easily in his arms, the way he'd lifted her from the ground outside the Forest. All around them, people were moving quickly from the Great Hall, into the Entrance Hall and to the courtyard at the front of the castle. Ron, Hermione and Ginny pushed past Kingsley, so that they were among the first to reach the door. She heard them cry out, "No!" and "Harry! HARRY!" and her heart seemed to deflate further. When she caught sight of Hagrid, bringing up the rear of Voldemort's vanguard, her mouth went dry. In his arms was a limp figure with messy black hair. Harry's body. Rose could not scream aloud, but once again the icy horror filled her body.

Her thoughts seemed to take refuge in a place in her mind that the horror could not reach. They were stilted, odd thoughts. _Thank Merlin this is the last time I will feel this sensation_ , went one such thought. _There isn't anyone else alive that I love enough for it to hurt like this again._ Then she thought, _This is my fault._ Her fingers fiddled with the phial in her pocket. _I have the memories he needed. He wouldn't have had to do this if I'd found him_. For she was certain that Harry had given himself up; he could no sooner have run away from his friends than she could have run away on both her injured ankles.

 _It is my fault. Just like Sirius._ I _haunted Voldemort's dreams and made him come after me._ I _let Remus and Tonks' danger distract me from looking for him. If I'd found him-_ It was an emotion of despair so strong that out of self-preservation, a desire to live at least until the outcome of this encounter with Voledmort was known, as Hagrid lowered Harry's body onto the grass, she closed herself to emotion.

The full moon filled her mind with its cold silvery light as her emotions became vague substances swirling around it. _I wonder if I will survive this-?_ She thought idly, though she no longer really cared. _No,_ she answered herself. _That's absurd. Remus was wrong; some pain is too strong to live through._

And yet, absurdly, she continued to draw breath as Kingsley came to a stop behind Neville Longbottom. She could feel, too, that her heart was still beating. _How odd._ Voldemort was saying something but she could not tell what it was. And then Ron was shouting from a few feet away from them.

"He beat you!" Ron bellowed at Voldemort, and then Neville was running forward to challenge Voldemort. The clarity Rose had attained by suppressing her emotions did not seem to allow her to do more than strain to observe the scene before her. She could barely understand the words.

"But you are a pure blood, aren't you?" Voldemort asked, in his silkily cold voice.

"So what if I am?" returned Neville defiantly. Rose only watched, gripping Kingsley's arm. As Voldemort offered Neville a place among the Death Eaters, she knew some suspense. The world was upside-down; perhaps even Gryffindor students might join Voldemort, if it kept them alive.

But Neville was as adamant as Ron had been, shouting, "I'll join you when hell freezes over. Dumbledore's army!" This was directed to the students around him, and was met with cheers. Distantly, Rose felt herself rousing a little.

Then Voldemort placed the Sorting Hat upon Neville's head. She felt fear for him, and then it was as if all her emotions had gone rogue. They all came rushing out from behind the barrier, like the voices which Voldemort could not still: dread, fear, defiance, fury, even a note of hope. When the Hat on Neville's head was caused to go up in flames, she screamed with the rest of them.

And when Neville broke through the curse, pulled from the Hat the Sword of Gryffindor, and sliced the great snake's head from its body, she felt ferocious joy.

"HARRY- WHERE'S HARRY?" Hagrid bawled through the tumult, and Rose looked over to see that Harry's body was no longer on the grass. _He will be able to return_ , Severus' strangely fervent face when he said it, was in Rose's mind. Harry _had_ returned, as Severus had said. But to where-?

And then they were all fighting, pursuing Death Eaters into the castle with vengeance. Kingsley shifted Rose to one arm so that he could shoot Stunning and _Incarcerous_ spells with his wand arm. Rose, who found herself thrown over Kingsley's broad shoulder, began firing spells from her new position, protecting his back. They made their way to the Great Hall, fighting as they went, and she felt the battle-calm returning to her. A train of house-elves knocked into Kingsley at once point, but he kept his balance and his grip on her. There were centaurs in the Entrance Hall, adding to the chaos, but also adding to their effectiveness in subduing the Death Eaters or driving them into the Great Hall.

When they entered the room, Voldemort himself was visible in the corner of the room. Minerva McGonagall, her gray hair wildly tumbling down her back and her face livid, was fighting him. Horace Slughorn come pelting past them as they'd entered, and he joined Minerva in fighting Voldemort.

"Put me down, Kingsley," Rose told him. "I can fight from the floor."

He did as she requested. When he had placed her on her knees on the marble floor, Kingsley ran off to join the assault on Voldemort's now isolated form. Rose was only able to throw one Stunning Spell at Fenrir Greyback before Ron and Neville moved in on him. The members of Dumbledore's Army and the Order of the Phoenix made quick work of the other Death Eaters who had come into the castle, and soon there were only two fights raging in the room: Voldemort, who still fought Kingsley, Minerva and Horace, and Bellatrix's increasingly frantic dual with Hermione and Ginny.

Rose cried out and tried to crawl toward them when she saw Voldemort about to curse Ginny, but her efforts were unnecessary. With a cry of, "NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" Molly Weasley threw off her cloak and rolled up her sleeves. "OUT OF MY WAY!" she roared, and suddenly her wand was firing curses at Bellatrix with an eloquence that drew first astonishment and then admiration from Rose. She had not thought it possible to feel joy after she had seen Harry's body, but joy alighted on her when Molly bested Bellatrix and hit her square in the chest with a deadly curse. Sirius' killer, and Remus', and Tonks' too, fell to the ground amid cheers. Rose cried out in joy, cursing in English for the first time that she could recall, "HA! Take that, you murdering bitch!"

And she turned to set her sights on Voldemort, thinking to wring one more moment of joy out of watching his downfall. And then she heard it.

"PROTEGO!"

Harry's voice, beyond doubt. Her mind reeled as her neck craned. There he stood, the Invisibility Cloak cast to the ground beside him, his dirty face alive with focused energy, eyes blazing. Alive.

"I don't want anybody to try to help," Harry ordered, and everyone went silent. Rose could not have spoken if she'd wanted to.

"It's got to be like this. It's got to be me," Harry continued.

"Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?" Voldemort jeered. He and Harry were circling each other like lions. Malice glinted in Voldemort's red eyes, but Harry looked back at him with bold confidence that made Rose draw in her breath. He was no longer the boy who had returned from the graveyard with the Triwizard Cup in one hand and Cedric Diggory's body in the other. This Harry was a man, and he answered his enemy's taunts with calm certainty.

"You won't be killing anyone else tonight," he told the irate Voldemort. "I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people."

"But you did not," Voldemort threw back at him.

"I meant to," Harry replied, "And that's what did it." All around her, the Great Hall was lined with Hogwarts defenders who were dirty, exhausted, but hanging on every word of the conversation between Harry and his enemy. Rose, still kneeling on the marble floor, did not feel the pain in her knees. She was mesmerized.

When Harry offered to tell the pale figure who circled with him of the things he had learned, Rose listened intently. Part of her wondered, even as Harry's words carried revelation after revelation, what the contents of the glass phial, still in her sleeve, might have added to his knowledge. But Harry seemed to know enough to astonish both Voldemort and the whole Hall of listeners. Every step which they took as they circled each other was audible in the charged silence.

They watched and listened as Voldemort struggled to regain the upper hand. "Dumbledore is dead!" he cried, and later, "I killed Severus Snape three hours ago!" and though this second declaration was a dull blow to Rose, Harry looked unimpressed by anything Voldemort lobbed at him.

"Before you try to kill me," he said conversationally, "I'd advise you to think about what you've done. Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle."

With those words, Rose's eyes filled with tears and for a moment she could no longer see either Harry or Voldemort. She had been right; Harry wanted even his enemy to have this chance. The year of dream-walking had not been a waste or a needless risk. If Harry lived through this, her efforts would surely buy him some measure of peace.

The revelations continued to emerge as Harry and Voldemort continued to lob words at one another. "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb!" Voldemort shrieked at one point. "I removed it against its last master's wishes! It's power is mine!"

Harry had an answer for this, too. "You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough!" Patiently he explained, as a teacher to an erring student, that the wand they were speaking of had changed allegiance. "The true master of the Elder Wand," Harry said as he came to the end of his logic proof, "was Draco Malfoy."

And over Voldemort's attempts to dismiss this revelation Harry continued. "I overpowered Draco Malfoy weeks ago." The listeners were so intent on his words that, moments later when his voice dropped to a whisper, not a word was lost. "I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

As the Hall's enchanted sky, reflecting the conditions without, burst into a brilliant sunrise, Harry and Voldemort both raised their wands.

Normally, when a witch or wizard cast a spell, there was an accompanying flash of light. Rose did not even notice the light which accompanied most spells; it was just a sort of side effect, like popping sound made by Apparition. But the light that appeared with Harry's and Voldemort's spells, Harry's _"Expelliarmus!"_ and Voldemort's _"Avada Kedavra!"_ had the quality of gold fire. It burned between their jets of red and green light, and there was a momentary struggle within its flames. Then, the green light was driven back rapidly and, when it arrived back at the wand which had cast it, the wand was thrown from his hand, high into the air.

No one breathed as it arched through the air away from Voldemort, who collapsed as if the air had been let out of him. And Harry threw up his hand and caught the wand.

For a second Harry stood, gripping the Elder Wand in the hand that was not holding Draco Malfoy's wand, and exhaled. Tom Riddle did not move. But everyone else did.

The crowd converged on Harry, then. Hermione and Ron reached him first, and Rose, tears pouring down her cheeks, watched them throw themselves into an ecstatic three-way embrace. She longed to run to him too, to exclaim over him. He was alive! Death, which had taken so much from her, had given him back.

She was sobbing, but she knew her injuries would not allow her to reach him. So instead, she watched Molly Weasley kiss him through her tears, and Hagrid muss his hair clumsily (throwing Harry momentarily off-balance with the force of the gesture) and Ginny kiss him full on the mouth, to his apparent enjoyment. Everyone was talking to him, cuffing him about the shoulder, gripping his arm, and she knew he must be uncomfortable with it all. But he seemed to understand that they needed him, for he showed no sign of wanting them to stop.

Rose just watched him, and that was enough. Kingsley came to her side and asked if she wanted him to carry her to Harry, but just then, Harry looked directly at her. His smile, which was beginning to look rather fatigued, became wide and incredulous. He made straight for her, despite the press of people around him. When he got to her, he crouched down so that he was looking directly at her.

"You're alive," was all he said, and she threw her arms around him. He lost his balance, and they fell to the floor in a laughing heap.

"I told you," she said in his ear, hugging him fiercely for a moment. "Didn't I? I told you you would win. Two years ago, I told you."

"I didn't believe you," he answered as he extracted himself from her and sat up on his heels. He was grinning and tears glinted in his eyes too.

"Well, you should _listen_ to your Auntie!" she told him, swiping at his arm, and they both laughed again.

"You're hurt?" he asked, as she gingerly put her feet under her again. She clambered back onto her knees and swayed. Kingsley put a hand down to steady her.

Rose shrugged and wiped more tears away. "I don't feel it, Harry."

"What was the matter, before?" he wanted to know, but she shook her head.

"That's a story for another day. Nothing that you haven't fixed, anyway." She leaned in closer to him and added, in a lower voice, "Come and visit me when this-" she motioned at the noisy press of people around them, "-is over. You can rest. We can tell our stories then. That is," she hesitated suddenly, her old self-doubt rising up suddenly, "that is, if you want to."

Harry answered in an equally low voice. "That sounds brilliant right now. Will there be food?"

"Loads of it," she told him. "Mostly takeout. But perhaps we'll learn to cook together."

They shared one more grin, and then Harry stood and the crowd swallowed him up.

"Would you like to sit on a bench, until Madame Pomphrey can see you?" Kingsley had now crouched down next to Rose, and impulsively, she hugged him too. He returned the pressure, smiling in a slightly surprised sort of way.

"That would be lovely, thank you," she told him.

* * *

Harry slept for nearly thirty-six hours after the battle was concluded. Ron and Hermione, who slept for twenty-four before hunger brought them to the Great Hall for breakfast, told Rose that they hadn't slept in days.

"Not since we left Shell Cottage," was Hermione's answer when Rose asked her when they had last slept. "And I don't know about you, Ron-" (Ron was engaged in trying to fit three biscuits into his mouth at once, but he snapped to attention when Hermione said his name) "-but I didn't sleep much that last night before we left. One doesn't, you know, when one is contemplating becoming Bellatrix LeStrange in the morning."

"I'd imagine not," Rose replied, half-amused and half-astonished. Both injuries, the Acromantuala bite and the sprain, had been well healed by Madame Pomphrey after the Battle's conclusion. Having slept sixteen hours herself, Rose was now out of physical pain and able to hear as much of Ron and Hermione's stories of their doings as they were able to tell.

Her heart was a strange mixture of sensations, when at times she prodded it. It was intensely painful in places, wounded by so many deaths: Remus', Tonks', and Fred Weasley's had given the greatest wounds. And yet, the miraculous restoration of Harry seemed to cause her heart to thrum with life and hope, even as the losses throbbed. Ever since Neville had challenged Voldemort and struck down the snake, the full moon had not been able to hold back the flood of feeling within her. Grief and joy, devastation and love streamed through her whole being as they went about the business of rebuilding the castle, and even more so as they mourned the dead in a succession of funerals.

After his marathon sleep in Gryffindor Tower, Harry emerged, freshly showered and ravenous. For the first day after he woke he seemed to be in a daze. He spoke little, but ate and listened to others' talk and assisted with the repairs to the castle that were underway all around them. Everyone went to bed early during their stay in the castle, and many (the young people especially) rose late, but during the day they were all very busy.

Rose saw the weariness, grief, and shock rolling over Harry and his friends as they sat together for meals. They seemed to prefer each others' company most of the time, and the majority of those who remained in the castle understood and left them to themselves. Molly was one exception to this. And, Rose observed Harry and Ginny taking a number of short walks around the grounds by themselves, from which they always seemed reluctant to return.

After six days at Hogwarts, and five at the Burrow (encompassing Fred's funeral), Harry packed his trunk, which Hermione had magically condensed to be the size of a suitcase, and Apparated to a certain alleyway in Dalston. He was knocking on Rose's door within minutes.

He had hardly finished the act of knocking when Rose opened the door, smiling broadly.

"Not going to ask me a security question?" Harry joked as he stepped over the threshold and put down his suitcase-sized trunk.

"No, but I was thinking about turning you in for a reward," she replied in the same tone. "Ten thousand galleons would buy me a lot of beautiful shoes."

"I hate to disappoint you, but I'm no longer Undesirable. That offer's expired," Harry said, laughing, though his face was tired and drawn-looking. He put his trunk in the guest room, took off his trainers, then returned to the kitchen and sighed.

"How are the Weasleys?" Rose wanted to know. She had come to Fred's funeral, and had stayed to offer her condolences, but sensing that the more guests there were at the Burrow, the more Molly would feel compelled to be cooking rather than grieving, she had returned to her flat by evening. That had been two days before.

"They're coping," Harry replied. "Well. George won't come out of his room. But aside from that…" he shrugged.

Rose frowned, clucking sympathetically. "Is Hermione staying with them?" she asked.

"Yes. I mean, until she goes to Australia to get her parents back, she hasn't really got anywhere else to go."

"I'm sure Ron doesn't mind," Rose suggested, turning and tending to the teapot, which was beginning to whistle.

"Nope," was all Harry said in answer, but with a meaningful small smile.

"Talking of, is Ginny doing well?"

"She's- she's great," Harry's smile changed in its quality and for a moment his eyes were far away. "She wasn't too chuffed about my coming here, but she understands. I need a rest."

"You can write her. Use Lis; she's still in good flying form. I'm sorry that I'm not yet connected to the Floo."

"You haven't got a fireplace to connect," Harry observed, peering around the kitchen wall to the small living room.

"You know these Muggles don't always feel the need to put them in newer buildings," she sighed. "It is a problem. I am researching a way to correct it. But it's not easy, making such a dramatic change to the building without the neighbors noticing. And they are such lovely neighbors; I wouldn't want to have to Confund any of them." She looked at him again and noticed the glassy cast to his eyes and the paleness of his face. "But I think you're right. You need a solid rest."

He nodded, and stretched his arms above his head, looking out of the window as he yawned. "Is there a word in French for this level of exhaustion?" he asked her.

" _Crevé_." She began to put the tea things on the little kitchen table. "And you'll want to practice that! I'm having a visitor in a few weeks that I'd love for you to meet. I've just gotten a letter this morning from my old school mate, Astou."

" _Je suis crevé_ ," Harry said, experimentally, watching her open a packet of biscuits with glassy eyes.

"Then sit down, won't you?" she chided.

For the first two days they did almost nothing at all except sleep and eat. Harry outdid Rose heroically at both of these occupations, sleeping till nearly noon each day and wolfing down all the food Rose could order. "You don't want to go outside?" Rose asked him during the second lazy afternoon in front of the television.

"I spent the better part of the last nine months camping," he answered, his face half buried in a pillow. "I've really been outside enough."

"At least let me cut your hair," she pleaded. "And anyway, you were going to tell me about your adventures!"

"I don't have the energy," he complained, though he followed her into the kitchen and sat dutifully on the chair she indicated. "You're not going to do it by magic?"

"Some things are better done the slow way," she replied, rummaging through her drawer and taking out her sharp shears. In truth, she only wanted to drag the process out so as to get him away from the television the longer. "Why don't you tell me just one story. Tell me about robbing Gringotts. It sounded positively swashbuckling!"

From then on, Harry told Rose one story each day, starting with the Gringotts robbery and continuing the next day with the events at Godric's Hollow, and describing his discovery of the Deathly Hallows lore on the day after that. Rose thought it best to abandon chronology in the telling. "Just tell me a story you can bear to tell," she told him when they'd gotten back from a walk to the market on the fifth day of Harry's visit. They had been taking some easy outings for the past few days as Harry's initial exhaustion had begun to ease.

"And when are you going to tell me what was wrong with you during the Battle?" he returned. "And about what you did?"

"When the time comes," she said, elusively. The truth was, in this new mode of hers in which emotions flowed so easily and with such intensity, she was not eager to revisit the Battle. She knew she would not be able to tell it without crying.

They went to bed early that night. Harry kept dozing off during the nine o'clock news. "Do you want to change the channel?" Rose asked, her own voice drowsy. "Red Dwarf is on BBC-2. You might like that."

"I don't think I'd be able to stay awake for that either," Harry admitted, getting to his feet. "I'm going to turn in, ok?"

"Good idea," she said. "I'll probably make it an early night too."

And she did, putting the Colette novel Remus had given her, which she had been fruitlessly trying to read, back on her nightstand and extinguishing her wand just after ten o'clock. She sank instantly into sleep. But it was only two hours later that she was reaching for her wand again.

" _Lumos."_

The dream she had been having had been so compellingly real. When it started, she had been at the beach at Ravenscar, chasing Remus over the rocks.

 _She was begging him to come home to Teddy, who needed him. Remus eluded her, nimbly leaping over rock and behind cliffs, until he turned and looked at her with a face full of sadness, illuminated by the setting sun._

" _I can't," he told her. "But you can." He turned away again and began to walk out into the ocean, the waves already up to his hips. "Tell Harry!" he called, as the scene faded and she found herself on the front stoop at Grimmauld Place. She could see through the front window that Tonks and Sirius were playing cards in the drawing room. But though they occasionally ceased their laughing over the game to wave merrily at her, Rose could not open the door._

 _And then she was running down Privet Drive, where a baby with a scar and vivid turquoise hair was waiting in a basket on a doorstep, and she had to get to the door before it opened and the residents took the baby inside their house. And the baby was crying out, short staccato cries. "No!" the baby cried, "Don't hurt them!"_

"No," the voice shouted again, and Rose's eyes were opened now. "No-" with such misery it made her almost sick, "-No! Not them too!" Her wand lit, Rose put her feet into her slippers and made her way into the guest bedroom.

Harry was shaking and whimpering in his bed, still in the throes of his own nightmare. "Nooo," he moaned, and Rose wiped away her own tears before putting her hand on his arm.

"Harry," she said, and hesitated. It was on her lips to say, "It's all right," but she knew that it wasn't. To have lost Sirius and Remus and Tonks and Fred and so many others was not a situation which one could describe as "all right." Nor did she feel right saying, "It's not real," or many of the other comforting phrases one said after a nightmare. For the nightmare had been real. Harry had seen death, so much death, and it had been only too real for them all. Finally she settled on something she felt she could say with truth.

"It's over," she told him, giving his shoulders a little shake. "Harry, it's over. It's over. Wake up." As she did so, she felt a twinge of deja vu. It seemed she was fated to be the one who would wake both Sirius and Harry from their dark nightmares.

Unlike Sirius, Harry woke immediately. "No!" he shouted one more time, and then his eyes flew open. He breathed rapidly for a moment, straining to focus on her face, then began fumbling for his glasses. Rose handed them to him, then fetched the small chair from the little guest desk and dragged it over to the side of his bed. She sat down and looked at him.

"Nightmare," Harry managed to say when he'd caught his breath. "Sorry."

"Don't be," she answered. "I was having one of my own. About Remus, and Tonks and Teddy Lupin. What were yours about?"

"All of them," he whispered dully. "Fred, and Sirius, and Remus. Peter Pettigrew, strangling himself. There was nothing I could do."

"No, there wasn't," she agreed gently. "And not one of them was your fault."

His breath stopped a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was choked. "What difference does it make whose fault it is? They're gone." He took a deep breath to try to steady himself. "There's been so much death."

"But there is still a great deal of life," she answered, feeling as if she were telling it to herself as much as to him. "Ginny. Hermione. Ron. You and I, we're alive. Teddy Lupin is alive," she added, blinking back more tears, "and he has us."

"Remus," Harry whispered. "Tonks…" and he began to sob quietly. And Rose could no longer keep back her own tears either. She put her arms around him, and he held onto her as if she were a lifeline.

"There's still life. There's still life," Rose insisted. For a time they clung to each other, like shipwrecked children.

Harry let go first. He sat back in a slump, and Rose imagined that he was embarrassed by his breakdown. Then he said in a bleak monotone, "I don't know how to live now."

He didn't elaborate, but Rose knew what he meant. After considering it for a moment, she said, "First, we survive. Then, we live."

"But," he seemed to be struggling to put his thoughts into words, "Will it- I don't see how it's going to feel like living. I don't see how to get over it."

"Oh, we won't get over it."

He shook his head. "No." He was no longer crying, now, but his voice was listless. "I know we won. And I died; I came back. But it doesn't feel like winning, and I don't know that it ever will. I don't know how you can be sure that we'll ever-"

" _Expecto Patronum."_

Her words, which she spoke with as much conviction as a shout, surprised her by coming out as a whisper. But Rose's hand on her wand was steady, and likewise her gaze at Harry. The feeling she had summoned, the miracle of seeing him alive in the Great Hall, against all odds, that joy filled her limbs as the great snowy owl erupted from her wand again.

"What- you-" Harry's mouth had fallen open. He swallowed. "Hedwig," he said, staring at the Patronus in shock. The silvery bird soared around the little guest room, illuminating it with silvery light. Rose felt herself smiling as the same sense of exhilaration she had felt the last time she had cast a Patronus filled her again.

Harry seemed similarly affected. There was a light in his eyes and slight smile playing at his lips as he asked, "So…. you can cast a Patronus now?"

Rose nodded at him, still smiling. "I did it for the first time during the Battle. Our mutual friend, Tom, sent some Dementors after me when he became too distracted to pursue me himself."

Their eyes both followed the progress of the silvery owl through the room. It landed briefly on Harry's trunk before lifting into the air again to circle the bed. The room seemed to fill with a drowsy peace as they watched.

"Someday," Harry told her, in a voice closer to his usual tone than it had yet been that night, "I'm going to need to know what you did that made Voldemort come after you."

"I'll tell you tomorrow," she promised. "Some stories don't pair well with darkness. But suffice to say, he hadn't banked on my being able to defend myself against Dementors. Someone must have told him I couldn't cast a Patronus. Anyway, do you want to know what I thought about, when I cast one the first time?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"You. I thought about you. And the fact that you were still alive." His eyes darted at her, then looked away again just as quickly. "When she had chased away the Dementors," Rose continued, nodding at the bird flying past them, "I sent her to find you. Did she find you?"

Harry's mouth fell open, and he gave a short, startled laugh. Then, he shook his head. "Yeah. She found me," he said. "Only, when I saw her… I thought she was Hedwig." In response to Rose's questioning look, he went on, "I was walking with… I guess they were like ghosts, but they were more solid than ghosts. It was what came out of the Resurrection Stone when I used it. Sirius. Remus. My dad, and… Mum."

"You saw Lily?" Rose whispered. The owl flickered where it flew, but Rose looked at Harry and took a deep breath. The Patronus became solid again.

Harry nodded. "They were all with me, keeping me company… you know, before I…" he trailed off.

"Before you allowed Voldemort to kill you. Or, to try to kill you," she supplied, and he nodded again. Rose lifted her wand slightly and spoke to the bird. " _Venez ici,_ "1 she told it, and it flew obediently to alight next to Harry on the guest bed.

He reached for it rather longingly. It held still, but his fingers still passed through its luminous head. "It looks just like her."

They sat for another silent minute, bathing in its silvery light. Then Rose spoke. "Anyway, that's how I know."

"How you know…?" Harry frowned, looking at her questioningly.

"How I know that we will be able to live again and not just survive. Because I was able to live after we lost Sirius. And, when I cast my Patronus for the first time, I had just seen Tonks and Remus dead. But I thought about you, and found happiness." Rose sat up straighter and played with her wand thoughtfully as she spoke. "It doesn't seem to make sense. I couldn't cast a Patronus even when Sirius was alive and I was happy with him, but now that we've lost so many people, I can. It doesn't make sense." She gave a small laugh. "Did you know that there are flowers growing at Chernobyl?"

"Growing at where?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. Anyway, it seems to me now that life isn't a conflict between good feelings and bad feelings, with the stronger feeling _winning_ somehow. It's more of a decision between _feeling_ and _not feeling_. If you make up your mind to open yourself up to feeling, then even when pain almost destroys you, you're still alive. And then you can feel happiness too, when it comes to you. And love."

"Dumbledore said something like that," Harry mused.

"Well, that proves it then. If Dumbledore and I both agree on something, it's bound to be true," she said, sitting up straight and giving her head a little toss.

He sniffed a silent chuckle. Then, he lay back down on his bed. "I'm all right. You don't need to sit up all night. I'm sorry I woke you."

Rose smiled a bit sadly, remembering. "Don't feel sorry for that," she said, repeating the words she had once said to Sirius. Then, she looked at the Patronus. " _Pouvez-vous rester avec lui un certain temps_?"2 she asked it softly. It inclined its luminous head, and arranged itself at the foot of the bed where it sat, regally, with eyes half closed, glowing like a living night-light.

"Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Rose. Hey, Rose?"

She had stood and was halfway to the door, but she stopped and looked back at him.

"Let's go downtown again tomorrow."

"Yes, let's," she said, and smiled. "It's going to be sunny tomorrow. I'll see you in the morning."

"See you," came his drowsy voice, and Rose passed back into the hallway into her own room. She had no further dreams that night.

* * *

"There you are, Harry. Just- yes, support his head like that. Perfect," Andromeda declared, taking a step back and looking at them in approval.

Harry had gone utterly stiff. There was pleasure on his face, but the rest of his body was motionless as the tiny baby squirmed in his arms. "Hullo, Teddy," he whispered. The child stretched its limbs as far as they would go, then relaxed. His face found the source of Harry's voice and his mouth formed a perfect "o" as they locked eyes. Harry let out his breath in an astonished laugh.

"He sees me. Look, he's looking right at me!"

"He's six weeks old," Andromeda told him, hiding an amused smile. "He can see farther than that, now."

"Well, yeah, but he's really _looking_ at me," Harry said, seemingly unable to tear his eyes from the small face in the crook of his arm. "Teddy. Hullo. I'm Harry. I'm your godfather."

A tiny "ah" came from the baby's pursed lips, and then he suddenly screwed up his face.

"Don't cry, Teddy!" Harry said, looking up at Andromeda helplessly. "What did I do?" he asked her, but she shook her head and nodded toward the baby.

"Look at him."

Teddy's downy hair, which had been turquoise when Harry took him, had turned black, and was now sticking out from its owner's tiny head at all angles. The baby continued to stare fixedly at Harry, but then he flinched. Harry had let out a loud guffaw.

"Poor bloke thinks he wants to look like me! Ha!" he chortled. "You'll find looking like this isn't all it's cracked up to be, mate," he said confidentially, allowing the baby to grip his finger.

"He could do worse," said Rose, who was sitting to Harry's left and beaming. "I happen to think rather a lot of both of you." She turned to Andromeda, who had seated herself in a chair opposite them. "So, is this all right, can we visit weekly?"

"You can visit as often as you like," Andromeda told her. She wore an impeccable set of deep purple dress robes and her hair was swept up in its usual elegant coif; however, there were deep shadows of grief under her eyes. _Probably exhaustion too,_ Rose speculated.

"Does he wake often at night?" Rose asked her gently.

Andromeda smiled stoically. "On some nights, yes. On other nights, I owe my sleeplessness to no one but myself."

Rose sighed. "Yes. I'm afraid I know the feeling. Remus always used to say that you have to take care of your body in times of grief. But sometimes, the body doesn't cooperate."

They locked eyes a moment, Rose's green eyes looking into Andromeda's silvery grey. _So like Sirius',_ she thought, catching her breath. "Come and visit anytime," Andromeda repeated, a little more softly.

"Perhaps I will come a bit more often than Harry," Rose suggested, to which Andromeda gave one grave nod.

Teddy had begun to squirm and whimper, and his breathing accelerated. He looked very much like crying. Harry looked up at Andromeda again.

She looked perfectly calm. "Try standing up and walking him around. Give it a bit of a jostle. Often that calms him."

Harry looked nervous, but stood with the baby in his arms, appearing to concentrate on this small concert of movements as intensely if it were an especially challenging Quidditch maneuver. Cautiously, he began to stride around the room, jiggling the baby very slightly in his arms as he did so. Teddy quieted almost immediately.

"You're a natural, Harry," Rose told him. Harry snorted, but looked pleased with himself all the same. Looking back at Andromeda, she said, "Why don't you lie down a while? I know you could use a rest. And Harry and I can manage Teddy together, can't we Harry?" Harry looked decidedly nervous at this. Rose ignored him.

Andromeda only hesitated a moment. "There's another bottle in the kitchen, under a Cooling Spell. If he gets hungry, just-"

"Use a Warming Charm, until it's around 38 C," Rose finished for her. "I remember. It can't be as hard as Wolfsbane."

Apparently satisfied in Rose's competence, Andromeda climbed the stairs to her bedroom, leaving Harry and Rose alone with the baby, who had begun to snore delicately in Harry's arms.

"I'm afraid to sit down," he confessed, as he paced the floor.

"Just wait until he's been asleep a few minutes," Rose advised. "Make sure he's thoroughly asleep." She stretched her arms above her head, then smiled contentedly at her nephew and godson. "How many children does Ginny want?" she teased.

Harry pulled a face. "Ginny wants to play Chaser for the Harpies," he told her firmly.

Rose hummed a little. "Well, as time shall try," she observed. And then, "When we were walking to the Apparition point, you asked what I had planned for the summer. I don't really have firm plans for anything yet, beyond Astou's visit next week. Why?"

"Oh," he said, tearing his eyes from the sleeping face of his godson, whose hair had turned pink as he dreamed. "Yeah. So, how'd you feel going to Australia? Say, in two weeks?" When she raised her eyebrows but said nothing, he continued, "Hermione reckons she'll be ready to go find her parents about then. She's traced them as far as Melbourne, though she's not sure if they're still living there. Can we get there by Floo?"

"You can, though not directly," Rose told him. "You'll need to Floo to some hub on the continent, maybe Paris or Berlin, then you can choose to go the eastern route or the southern route. Of course, it might be simpler to fly, though more time-consuming." She was sitting up straight now, suddenly verbose in her enthusiasm for the subject of travel.

"That's what I said, but Ron refuses to get near an aeroplane. Calls them Muggle Death Tubes. Says he'd rather fly on broomstick." Harry shrugged.

"You might tell him that, all told, it might be cheaper to fly than to pay all those tariffs in each country to Floo," Rose said.

Harry seemed to decide that Teddy was thoroughly asleep, now. He eased himself into a chair. "Yes, well, this is the sort of thing we don't really know about," he went on. "Hermione can research- and she _has,_ believe me- but we've none of us done anything like the amount of travel you have. Interested in coming along?"

Rose looked out of Andromeda's large bay windows thoughtfully. "Do you know, I've been to nearly every continent, even Africa. But somehow I never made it to Australia."

"It'd be great if you could," he said, emphatically. "Mrs. Weasley's been threatening to send Percy with us. She might call him off if you came."

"Well, we can't subject the poor Australian Muggles to that," Rose agreed. "I think I can do that," she said after another moment of consideration. "It will be lovely; I've missed travel."

"Brilliant," he replied. With one hand, he stroked the baby's softly curling pink hair and smiled. "You're going to be a lot better off than I was, mate," he told the sleeping infant. "Andromeda's going to be leagues better than the Dursleys." Teddy stretched in his sleep, and began to make a tiny rhythmic moaning sound with each snore. "And I'll come and see you," Harry went on, allowing the baby to grip his finger again. "And when I've my own place, you can come and stay with me sometimes, and beat your godmother at Motor Toon Grand Prix. That shouldn't be hard." He raised his eyebrows at Rose as he said this, grinning.

"Only because you're holding my godson, I'll let you get away with that," she told him, twirling her wand in her fingers with a mock-threatening gesture.

Harry looked back down at the baby, still grinning. "Come to The Burrow on Friday? We were going to plan the trip this weekend." He addressed Rose, though he still gazed at Teddy.

"Mmm, can't do Friday," Rose answered him, still looking out of the window.

"Have you got a date, then?" Harry teased. When she didn't answer, he looked up at her. "You _have_ got a date," he accused, his mouth opening.

"It's hardly a date," she answered, coloring a little. "It's only dinner. We're just sort of- getting to know one another."

"Who's this bloke, then?" Harry demanded, half smiling, half gaping. "Do I know him?"

Rose continued to fidget with her wand and smiled slowly. "Supposing I told you he had to meet Friday, because his duties as Minister of Magic are going to keep him busy all weekend?" When she saw his expression, she laughed.

"Don't worry," she assured him. "I'll tell Kingsley not to expect another dinner for a month at least. I've got a new continent to visit with my nephew!"

* * *

1 "Come here."

2 "Could you stay with him a while?"


	45. Third Flower Epilogue

Third Flower: Epilogue

 **A.N. Readers, you have made me so happy. Thank you, for all the follows, reviews, messages and favorites. I hope you've enjoyed it; it has been a great pleasure for me to write it.**

 **Now that we're at the close, I want to give away the raison d'être for this here story. It had always seemed to me when I read Harry Potter that Harry deserved another relative. How unlikely, I thought, would any child be to have only one living relative? Surely everyone has an uncle, a cousin, or great aunt who could take them on should they be suddenly orphaned. I wanted there to be someone out there for Harry, to be a found family for him in the way that many fics portray Remus and Sirius. However, I felt that his having been raised by the Dursleys, as heartbreaking as it is, is instrumental to Harry's becoming the hero that he becomes. This is a classic epic hero archetype! The hero must be raised in obscurity, as frustrating as it is for readers.**

 **My goal upon setting out was to create an adult original character who could be a part of Harry's found family, one who wouldn't die but would continue to provide him with help and with a connection to his past, but- and this was critical for me- I didn't want the introduction of this character to change any major** _ **event**_ **in the story. I felt like the** _ **Harry Potter**_ **books were a tapestry, and I wanted to add to and embellish the tapestry without pulling any threads out. I know it made a lot of people unhappy to read this fic and find that all the same people died as in Rowling's books. Believe me, I found each of these deaths devastating too! I just felt the fact of their deaths to be incontrovertible.**

 **Unlike many readers, I first read the** _ **Harry Potter**_ **books as an adult. I looked at Harry and his friends the way I looked at many of the teenage students I was teaching at the time: with respect, affection, compassion, and admiration. But I didn't see them as peers, and I wanted, with this fic, to find a storyline for the adults in Harry's world. What were they doing, who were they loving, and how did they relate to the second Wizarding War differently than the teenagers did? I enjoyed exploring these questions with** _ **Third Flower**_ **. I hope you've enjoyed the journey half as much as I have.**

 **Dates: the first vignette starts in November, 2000. Then, we visit June of 1981. We take our leave on Christmas of 2000.**

"Goodnight, then, Potter. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Davies." Harry waited until his fellow Auror Trainee's footsteps had receded all the way down the hall before moving. He heard the sound of the elevator doors closing, and only then did he stand and assemble his things. He'd received permission from Head Auror Williamson to use the department's Pensieve, but he wasn't interested in explaining the use to which he would put tonight it to any of his colleagues.

Once his knapsack was over his shoulder, he reached for his cloak and checked the pocket. The little glass phial, the size of a salt shaker, was solid in his hand. He put the wool cloak into the crook of his arm, clasped his fingers tightly around the phial, and strode out of the room, down the hall, and into the small chamber which contained the sturdy metal basin. It was a Thursday evening in November now, but it had been a bright July Saturday when his aunt had taken him aside during his wedding reception.

"I"m giving this to you separately, Harry, because it's more of a gift for you than for Ginny," she told him, placing the phial in his outstretched hand and patting it affectionately with her other hand. "I've given you both your housewarming gift, of course," she nodded toward the piles of gifts which adorned the card table which usually sat in the Weasleys' sitting room. "But this one is special. I thought, maybe it would have crossed your mind that there are quite a lot of people who would like to have come today, were they alive. I thought you might be missing them. These are my memories, but I want you to be able to experience them too. No need to use it right away," she added, lifting her index finger, "But there may come a time when you want to feel close to them. The good news is, when you're finished viewing them, you can just lift them out with your wand and put them back in the phial. They'll be there to look at whenever you need."

He could hardly remember what he'd said to her in thanks, or indeed, very much that happened after that conversation. She had smiled, given him a quick hug, and returned to Kingsley's side in time to dance with him again. Harry, however, had had rather a lot of wine by that time. There in the hallway of the Auror wing, Harry paused to recall the somewhat blurred memory of Ginny's freckled face, laughing into his, and the smell of the wet grass under his feet as they'd walked away from the tent. He'd stopped in his tracks and patted his robe pocket to ensure that Rose's gift was still there before reaching out to touch the portkey to leave for their honeymoon.

He had told Ginny that he would be home late tonight. "Do what you have to do," she'd told him. "Coach Keynes has been up my chimney about going to the sauna with the other Chasers after practice sometime anyway. I'll just do it then. I'll be red as a brick when you get home, even by Weasley standards." In the dim light of the small torches in the office, Harry smiled, as he usually did when he thought of Ginny. She was the reason he was usually among the first, not the last, to leave the Trainee Program Office every day.

Still, he'd been moody lately. A few days ago, a particularly difficult day of training the previous week, followed by the sight of the birthday card he'd sent to Aunt Petunia, returned, unopened, to his mailbox that evening, had made for a night of poor sleep that night. The next day, drained and irritable, he had quarreled with Ginny about several things, none of which were really important. But this only led to another night of little sleep. Now Harry was exhausted. That morning, on impulse, he'd grabbed Rose's memories from the bookshelf, put them in his pocket, and told Ginny he thought he'd be home a bit late.

Harry made sure the door behind him was locked before he poured the silvery liquid into the basin of the Penseive. Then he took a deep breath, exhaled, and leaned into the basin.

* * *

He was standing in the front garden of a cottage, just inside the wrought iron gate. Roses bloomed near the front of the house. The sky above him boded rain, but the air was still dry as a young wizard and an even younger witch Apparated on the other side of the gate.

Harry had recognized the cottage, so he knew who the wizard was likely to be. Still, the sight of James Potter, opening the gate to allow his young aunt to enter, made him catch his breath. James could not have been much older than Harry was himself. It had been several years since he had "seen" his father in a memory; they were even more amazingly alike now that he saw his father at his own age. His face was more mature and more care-worn than it had been in the memories Harry had seen of him at fifteen. But he still stepped jauntily, and he smiled down at Rose, who wore a cardigan over her ballet clothes and whose hand gripped a pair of pink leather slippers.

" _Après Vous, Mademoiselle,_ " he said grandly, gesturing toward the door.

Rose, who must be just about to turn eleven, giggled. " _Merci, mon seigneur_ ," she chirped, gliding toward the house with her chin lifted. James took the opportunity to turn to the gate, withdraw his wand, and mutter some sort of spell at the gate.

Harry followed his father into the cottage that had once been his home, noticing that he was the same height as the thin young wizard. Inside, James stopped by the door to place a set of keys on a hook. Harry sidestepped him, however, and followed the girl that was his aunt into the kitchen. When she stopped suddenly, he nearly walked into her.

"Sirius Black," her childish voice admonished, "what _are_ you doing with my nephew?"

Over Rose's shoulder Harry saw a leather jacket-clad young man with shoulder-length black hair, piercing grey eyes and a lazy, piratical smile turn his head slightly toward Rose, away from the object at which his wand was still pointing. Harry followed the wand's direction and let out a single guffaw. His baby self, tufty black hair swirling, rosy cheeks laughing, was floating several feet in the air.

"Ah, _bon soir, Mademoiselle-_ " Sirius began, but Rose interrupted.

"Is this what you call babysitting? Poor Harry! He's frightened."

This assertion, however, was contradicted by the evident delight on the baby's face. The baby that was Harry let out a merry belly laugh.

Sirius did not move to change either his posture or his wand's lazy movements, but only glanced at Rose with a small wink. "Now that is just demonstrably not true, _Mademoiselle._ The little fawn's having the time of his life, aren't you Harry?" Seemingly in answer, baby Harry clapped his tiny hands as Sirius made him perform a slow log roll above the table. To better observe all the scene, Harry the observer moved into the kitchen, placing himself against the stove.

"Where's Lily?" Rose asked in a suspicious tone. Her eyes kept darting between the baby in the air and Sirius.

"She's having a nap. And so, you see, I am doing her a favor. Babysitter Padfoot, not Kidnapper Padfoot, if you please. Oh, hullo Prongs." He added this last with a nod to Harry's father, who had just entered the room.

"Hullo, Padfoot." James had put his wand on the counter and how slouched next to Harry against the cold stove, his hands in his pockets. "Recklessly endangering my son, are we?"

"He has to learn to fly sometime," Sirius answered him, changing the motion so that Harry was slowly rising toward the ceiling, then falling by short fits and starts back toward the table.

"Oh Capital, capital. Proceed then, my good man," said James in an artificially posh voice.

Baby Harry was no longer laughing, but he seemed contented enough as his little body fell, then stopped, then fell, then stopped again in the air. Far from seeming frightened, he gripped his foot with one hand and sucked on the other hand. After one slow somersault, he suddenly caught sight of his aunt, who was closer to him than James. The child released his foot, took his hand out of his mouth, and rolled. He appeared to be trying to crawl through the air to Rose, who took the opportunity to step forward and snatch her nephew out of the air. The baby looked large on her small body, but she held him ably.

"That's all right, Harry, you're safe now," she crooned, at which Sirius rolled his grey eyes. "Shall we play on the carpet? Has he had dinner?" she asked Sirius.

"Oh certainly, he's had his weight in carrot, mashed up, all that, babyfood, thingy. D'you know, if they eat enough carrots they turn orange? I suppose it'll happen so incrementally that I won't notice." Sirius sounded regretful.

"Well then, you'll just have to go away for a long time so that you can see it clearly when you return," Rose answered tartly, before turning and flouncing into the living room, the baby clinging to her shoulders.

James guffawed. Harry watched Rose walk into the living room, gently place the baby on the multicolored rug he recognized from many of her pictures, and sit down next to him, her pink-stockinged legs crossing underneath her. He considered following her, but he couldn't yet bring himself to leave the room his father was in.

"Prongs, old man, it seems I am out of favor with _Mademoiselle_ ," Sirius remarked, though he looked none too troubled by the fact.

"Nah, she's just taking the mickey. That's how you know she _does_ like you, Padfoot."

"That how you knew Lily liked you? How's she show you she likes what you're doing in bed, then, she knee you in the bollocks?"

In answer, quick as a flash, James drew his wand and flicked it at Sirius, whose hair suddenly vanished. The now bald wizard leaped to his feet and took advantage of James' distraction- James was then doubled over, laughing- to utter an incantation. When James stood up straight again, he was sporting a lime green mustache. Sirius howled- very much like a dog, Harry thought- as James ran out to the hall mirror to view Sirius' handiwork. Harry took a step back to observe his father's reaction.

"You'd best beat it, Pads!" James bellowed, upon seeing his mustache. Harry looked back into the kitchen; rather than attempting an escape, Sirius was pointing his wand at his own head and causing black hair to grow rapidly. He had achieved about two inches of growth when James, now mustache-free, returned to the kitchen. Before James could lift his wand, Sirius jabbed his own at James, who was immediately lifted into the air by his ankle.

"You should keep him like that, Padfoot. He's better looking upside-down."

Harry, who had taken refuge in the corner of the kitchen next to the refrigerator, looked quickly at the door from the sitting room. A young woman stood in the doorframe, clad in a large blue terrycloth robe, her red hair in a slightly tousled ponytail. His mother.

"I think you're right, Lil," Sirius agreed, as she sauntered into the kitchen and used her wand to light the stove under the kettle. "Also, there's the added bonus that his blood is all going to his head, you know, so he may be able to express himself with something like intelligence."

"Put me down, you great git," James said, reaching for the floor as if it would help him.

"Well, all right, then, Prongs, I suppose intelligence just isn't for everyone."

James fell into an undignified heap on the kitchen floor. "Sod off, Paddy."

"My baby sister. Is in. The sitting room," Lily muttered through clenched teeth.

"Ah, but Lily, _Mademoiselle_ is much too refined even to hear us."

"Sirius, she hangs on your every word and you know it. I'm going to look in on the baby," Lily added, in a voice still thick with sleep. "One of you degenerates pour me a cup of tea when the water's ready, won't you?"

"It will be as you wish, my lady." James bowed, one hand at his chest. Lily rolled her eyes, but kissed him affectionately before stepping into the sitting room.

Harry followed his mother into the room where he found his baby self lying on the multi-colored rug next to Rose where the two of them held large pieces to a wooden puzzle.

"You've got the bear's face, Harry," Rose was telling him. "Where do you think it should go?" The baby grinned, then rolled onto his back and put the puzzle piece he was gripping into his mouth. Rose sighed, but smiled indulgently at the baby. Then, she looked up at her sister.

"Did you have a good nap, Lily?"

"I did." Lily dropped onto the rug next to the pair and reached out a hand to caress her son's tufty hair. "Though it's never enough, you know," she added with a yawn.

"Let me get him tonight, if he cries? I can take care of him so you can sleep."

"Yes, well, when you or James develops the ability to produce milk for him, do let me know." Lily slipped her arm under baby Harry's head, so that he rested in the crook of her arm on the floor. Rose positioned herself behind her sister and deftly pulled the elastic out of Lily's ponytail. Lily made a noise of protest, but was soon placated when Rose began to gently comb the red hair with her fingers.

Harry watched the cozy scene for several minutes, savoring the feeling of safety and contentment that came from being in the room where his mother was. They talked of this and that, of Rose's ballet lessons, of the preparations for her to attend Beauxbatons, and of Lily's memories of her first year of school. Harry could hear his father and Sirius' voices in the other room, punctuated by loud laughter, and he basked in the sense of home.

At one point, a large ginger cat strolled into the living room from one of the bedrooms.

"DA!" Harry the baby's face had lit up at the sight of the cat. He began to crawl rapidly toward the animal. The cat quickly trotted toward the kitchen, a look of panic on its wide face.

"You won't like it in there, Fat Lady," Lily told it. And, sure enough, accompanied by the sound of Sirius' barking laugh, the cat came hurtling back around the corner, her tail a bottle brush. Rose giggled, then pursed her lips and made a chirping sound, stretching out her hand. Fat Lady ignored her, choosing instead to slink over to Lily, eyeing baby Harry warily.

"Good Fat Lady, you know who loves you, really," Lily crooned, stroking the slightly twitching ears.

There came a small commotion from the kitchen, containing a cheer and a lot of shouting. James stuck his head into the sitting room. "Are the ladies of the house hungry?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, yes please," Lily answered, sitting up straight, displacing Fat Lady.

" _Nous avons tous faim,"_ Rose said over her shoulder. "I'm going to change his nappy, Lil."

"No one understands you, Rosey!" Lily called.

"She's hungry, Lil," came Sirius' voice from the kitchen. Lily rolled her eyes.

"Bacon and eggs all right?" James asked.

"How about a side of Moony?" came Sirius' voice. James' head was withdrawn, and a lanky young man stepped around him into the living room.

"Moony!" Lily exclaimed, leaping to her feet. "I thought you said you'd be at the library tonight."

"I've been released early for good behavior," he answered, smiling fondly at Lily and opening his arm to her hug. Remus Lupin looked healthier and less shabby than Harry had ever seen him look. Though his face already had many of the scars familiar to Harry, it did not have quite the look of fatigue, nor nearly so many lines as Harry remembered. He wore flared corduroy trousers and neatly tied trainers.

"Why did you really get out early?" Lily asked suspiciously.

He sighed and sat down in an armchair. "There were only two patrons for three hours. Library manager decided we might as well close up. People don't seem to feel safe being out after dark these days."

"Because of the attack at Oxford?" Lily asked, with a shrewd expression.

"And the one in Leeds two weeks before, yes," he answered, stretching his long arms behind his head. "Both wizarding institutions that allow Muggle-borns entrance. No one knows where He'll target next."

Rose came around the corner, then, holding a smiling baby Harry. The adult version of Harry felt a bit uncomfortable knowing that Rose had just been changing his nappy, even if it was an eleven-month version of himself.

"Hullo, Rosey," Remus greeted her. Harry's aunt beamed at Lupin.

"Moony! You're here!"

"I can't deny that I am." Remus rocked slightly in the armchair, turning it to follow Rose's progress through the living room, "How's our little fawn?"

"He stood without help today," Rose announced, putting Harry down on his feet. Seemingly unwilling to show off this vaunted ability, he immediately got down onto his knees and began crawling toward his mother.

"If Padfoot would leave him on the ground, he might have had a chance to practice," Rose sniffed.

"It's going to be hard keeping a son of James Potter's on the ground, I fear, Rose," said Remus. "Have _you_ been practicing, on the piano? I thought we could work on the 'Hungarian Dance' while I'm here."

"I did practice!" Rose threw her arms over her head, then curved them into a ballet dancer's pose. "Can we play it now?"

"Better get out of your dance clothes first," Lily advised.

Rose sighed, a bit melodramatically. "Wait just a minute, Moony?"

"Certainly," he answered, and she beamed at him before dashing out of the room.

Harry was then treated to an uninterrupted five minute period of little nothings during which Lily dandied Harry on her knee and chanted a rhyme about a hopping hippogriff. James' and Sirius' voices could still be heard. Remus closed his eyes, looking utterly at peace, and from the bedrooms came the sound of Rose singing.

Harry realized several minutes later as Remus and Rose sat down at the piano together that he had never spent such a long time in the pensieve at once. Far from being impatient for it to be over, however, Harry felt he could never get enough of the small moments, the faces of his family and the sound of their voices. Still, he was grateful as the evening in Godric's Hollow drew to a close that very little time would be passing for him on the other side of the Pensieve. The evening had entirely passed in the memory before there began to be talk of putting the baby, Harry, to bed.

It was a group effort. James dressed Harry in a pair of pyjamas which looked like a tiny set of Puddlemere United Quidditch robes before bringing him to the sitting room again and handing him off to Lily. While Lily fed the drowsy baby in his nursery, Harry lingered in the sitting room.

Rose was begging Sirius to tell them more about his trips to France. "As I have only ever traveled in the company of the insufferable prigs who make up my family, I can't say I enjoyed the experience," he was telling her. He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, which hung familiarly on the back of an armchair, and withdrew a packet of Embassy Regals. He offered one to James, who was lounging on the sofa, hands behind his head. James made a gesture to decline, smiling lazily at his friend.

"You aren't to smoke in the house, Padfoot!" Rose admonished, hands on her hips. "Lily said! It's bad for Harry's little lungs!"

"Now look here, _Mademoiselle_ , I can't be expected to talk about my family without the comfort of tobacco. It's simply not humane."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me about your family. Just tell me about Paris! Did you really go to the opera?"

"Yes," he said in a bored voice. "And a stupider and more pointless experience I can't imagine."

Rose made an impatient noise. "Oh, you _would_ find it boring. _"_ She looked at him, narrowing her eyes, then sat up and smiled in what she evidently believed was a great offensive in charm. "What was your _favorite_ part of France, Paddy?"

Sirius sat back on the sofa and put his arms behind his head. "Oh there are parts of Paris which I liked. For example, there are these women downtown-"

" _Sirius,"_ Remus said warningly.

"Yes," Sirius winked at Remus, who rolled his eyes. "Well, also, there's this bloke who's about a hundred years old by the name of Enzo. I met him when I ditched my family one night and slunk around the bridges. He lives by the river and plays the clarinet for money. I used to think the clarinet a sissy's instrument, but the things he can do with that clarinet, Mademoiselle, would impress even you." Sirius smirked. "Also, at night he writes rude words on the walls of buildings."

"Does he really? And don't they catch him?"

"They hadn't caught him as of last year."

Rose looked a touch conflicted, but then nodded. "Good. As long as he doesn't write on the cathedral?" she asked, with a slight frown.

"I assure you, _Notre Dame_ is safe," Sirius promised, looking amused.

Harry stole into the nursery then, to listen to his mother talking in a low voice to his sleeping self. "Good-night, darling. The world is sleeping now. Everyone will sleep tonight. Dad will sleep, Auntie Rose will sleep, Uncle Mooney will sleep, Uncle Wormtail will sleep, perhaps even I will sleep tonight. Imagine that! I don't think Uncle Padfoot sleeps, though. Don't make him your role model, though, eh Harry?" She smiled at the contented little face in the crook of her arm.

James walked in just as she was placing Harry in his crib. She kissed his cheek, and tiptoed out of the room, smiling at James, who waited for her to leave before approaching his son.

"Good-night, Harry, I love you, love you, love you," he whispered, in a more tender and sincere tone than Harry had heard him use all evening. He, too, dropped a kiss on his son's sleeping face. Harry saw, over his shoulder, Rose watching from the doorway, but she quickly disappeared when James stood up and turned toward the nursery door.

It was probably another hour later in the time of Godric's Hollow that Rose came in, tip-toeing her white nightgown, but it seemed to the adult Harry to be the blink of an eye. The room was dark, now, with only a nightlight of what looked like amber-colored fireflies in a jar to challenge the darkness. Rose's movements were utterly silent as she sank into the floor next to the crib. Then, she began to whisper.

"Guess what, Harry? I'm going to go to school." She was cross-legged inside her voluminous nightgown. "I'm going to school to learn to do magic. In France! It's like a dream! Can you believe it?"

Rose hugged herself and watched as the baby Harry stretched in his sleep, then uttered a short grunt before becoming still again.

"Only, I'm a little bit afraid." This whisper was even lower than before. "It's so far away, and what if you forget me? I'll be coming home at Christmas. That's-" she held up fingers and silently counted," "-only three months. But three months is a long time, for you." Another minute, and the only sound was of breathing and the faint fluttering of the fireflies in the jar.

"I'll think about you all the time. Sometimes, do you know what I pretend? I pretend you're my brother, and not my nephew." Rose gave a sigh as she looked at the sleeping baby, then reached out a hand and touched his hair very lightly.

After a moment, she sat up straighter, withdrew her hand, and continued. "And when I am grown, I will travel the world, and I will have a very fine house in a city somewhere. And I'll have a garden, and a great tank of fish like the one they had at Cokeworth Primary. And you'll come and visit me, Harry, I'll always keep a room for you. We'll go to the ocean together, too, when we're grown. But first," and she leaned toward him then, "I must go away and learn, and you must grow up. And the war must end."

There was a sudden creak in the hall outside the room, and Rose turned her head quickly toward the sound. When the steps came no closer to the nursery, but instead went into another room and closed the door, she exhaled, then stood up.

"Goodnight, Harry. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

When he had risen from the room, moved through the blackness and landed on his feet before the Auror office's Pensieve, Harry stood for several minutes, allowing all that he had just seen and heard to run through his mind, reluctant as one waking from a beautiful dream. Then, with a sigh, he siphoned out the memory with his wand, replaced it in its phial, and placed the stoppered memory in his robe pocket.

He checked the time, withdrawing from his robe the pocket watch Molly Weasley had given him more than three years before. _Only just gone seven._ Ginny would be home in an hour. He resolved to apologize for his part in their quarrel.

Still, he lingered by the office door a moment longer. Images rose to the surface of his mind. His mother's smiling face. The doorstep of number four Privet Drive. The box of gifts they had unpacked in his bedroom. The moving postcard from the south of France and the invitation to Rose and Kingsley's wedding, which had arrived within a week of one another. There had been so much suffering in Harry's twenty years, and so much loss. But for the moment, Harry saw only the wealth of what he still had, and the future seemed to promise even more.

He pulled on his cloak, waved his wand at the sconces on the wall to extinguish the lights, and closed the door behind him.

* * *

"So you honestly didn't put her up to it?" Rose asked again, holding Kingsley's gaze with her own.

"I didn't even know about it until you told me this morning. I promise you." His dark eyes did not leave hers until, satisfied, she nodded once and looked at her hands.

They were standing under the beech tree, now bare of leaves, in the front yard of the Tonks' family home. It was quite cold, but the pair were dressed for it, Kingsley with his wool robes and hat, and Rose with her mohair shawl draped over her head and shoulders. They lingered in the yard to finish their conversation, despite a darkening sky. From the windows of the house, a warm light was streaming, and there came, faint in the cold air, the smell of Christmas goose.

"Out of curiosity, why would it have been so upsetting if I had asked Audrey Weasley to offer you a position in the DIMC? Are you that allergic to the accusation of nepotism?" Kingsley smiled at her, comfortable in his reinstatement.

"Well, it would have been a bit of a mixed signal wouldn't it?" Rose answered, slightly impatient. "I mean, it is the Department of _International_ Magical Cooperation. Specifically, the position of ambassador to France. If my fiancé, the Minister for Magic in _England_ , who most definitely lives and must continue to live in _London_ , wants to present me with the opportunity to move to France, how am I to interpret that except that he has serious doubts about our future?"

"Oh, I don't know," he answered her slowly. "There may be other interpretations of such a thing."

"Such as?" Rose put her arms around him and raised her eyebrows.

Kingsley's arms went around her shoulders, careful not to displace the shawl. "Your fiancé might be a modern man who would quite like to see his intended's career develop into something equal to her potential. He might be at least as interested in that as in his own career."

"And," Kingsley continued, noticing that Rose was hanging on his every word, "Your fiancé might be more than willing to explore other career options himself, options which would not be in conflict with a part-time residence in France."

"Part-time?" she frowned and looked up at him. "I thought the position was full time." Her heart lifted a bit at this; a part-time position might be something she could think about accepting.

"Oh, it is," he assured her, and her heart sank. "But," he went on, "the British Magical Ambassador to France does not need to live in France year-round. Ambassadors often divide their time, which is both helpful for getting a feel for politics at home and abroad, and quite feasible, given the ease of magical transport between Paris and London. It's only a Floo journey away, after all."

"Of course," breathed Rose. Her mind was flying, now. She had known, of course, that she did not want to teach forever. The papers she had published, the book on issues of class in magical cultures she had started, these were all intended in part to make it easier to advance her career. But she had not allowed herself to think of a return to a life of travel, or of any international post. Her life, her family, such as it was, were here.

"So," Rose began, then stopped, looking at him fixedly. Kingsley's thoughtfulness and steadiness were comforting to her, and his depth intrigued her. But she was often baffled by his taciturnity. He looked back at her, waiting.

"So, if I were to accept, and thus have to live in France part of the time, you would-?"

"Come to live in France with you, of course."

"Oh, Kingsley." Her arms went to his shoulders and she kissed him. "It would mean a career change for you, I fear."

"It would," he agreed. "But I do not fear it. I have been looking for my way out for many months now."

"Have you been unhappy? I know you were concerned that people might begin to talk, you know, since you were not so much elected as- as, well-"

"Installed," he supplied. "Yes, I do not think it wise for a Minister of Magic who was appointed on an emergency basis, after the murder of his predecessor, to outstay his welcome at the post. But there has been no murmuring about it yet, as far as I can tell, and I cannot tell that anyone is at all discontented with the decisions I have made."

"Because you're brilliant," Rose stated. She said it matter-of-factly, not intending to flatter but to state her true opinion, and he knew it.

With a half-smile, Kingsley continued. "Still, I do not wish to remain minister indefinitely. If my fiancée is needed in France, well, I think the need to find my replacement will begin to present itself as a necessity."

Rose was smiling now. "No wonder you seemed so inexplicably pleased with the notion! I thought you wanted to be rid of me!"

He frowned down at her, and his arms went around her shoulders again. "How could you think so? I know," he hesitated, "I am not the most demonstrative man. But surely you must know that I never want to be rid of you. I love you," he said simply.

She squeezed him. "I know. That's why I found your attitude so baffling. Oh… Kings." Rose felt at a loss for words as she contemplated the future. It seemed to stretch out before her like a tapestry composed of rich fabrics and brilliant colors. She had not felt this breathless about what was to come since she was ten years old and contemplating becoming a student at Beauxbatons. Only-

"What is it?" Kingsley asked her softly.

"Harry." Rose sighed. "I can't do it, Kings. I can't leave him. I promised- well, everyone, that I'd look after him."

They looked at one another and Rose knew that Kingsley heard Sirius' name in her silence. He squeezed her arm comfortingly, and she continued.

"Harry's lost so much, I just can't bear the idea that he might feel abandoned. I know he's not a child anymore, but everyone needs family."

"I understand. But you will be able to see him just as easily while you are in England. And, perhaps there is another way of considering it. He may be very pleased to have a relative he can visit in Paris."

"I always did want to bring him to visit me in France," Rose said with a slight laugh.

"And now you can." They smiled at each other. "I do not think he will feel abandoned."

"Teddy." Rose said suddenly. "Oh, I promised Remus, Tonks… they wanted Harry _and_ me to be in his life, to help raise him. How can I do something to remove myself further from his life?"

"We have been to see him monthly all year," Kingsley reminded her. "He seems perfectly content with that. Besides, you will then be in a position to bring him gifts from France. I cannot imagine how he can regard it as a change for the worse."

"You're probably right. And anyway, he has Harry and Ginny, now. They've been having him to the house every week, Harry tells me." Rose took a deep breath, then stooped to pick up the parcels she had laid down when they had arrived at the Apparition point. "Well. Let us not deprive the little sprite of his Christmas gifts. Even if they were purchased in London," she added, with a grin. "Thank you, darling."

"Feeling better?" He offered her his arm, and she took it.

"Infinitely."

Their arrival in the entranceway of Andromeda's house caused a small explosion. "Godmamma Rose is here, Teddy," Andromeda's voice said, but Teddy didn't need to be told. He had already come barreling down the hall.

"Tata Tata Tata Tata! Father Christmas came!"

"Did he indeed?" Rose asked, scooping the little boy up in her arms and giving him a squeeze. He squirmed happily in her arms as Kingsley closed the door behind them. "And what could Father Christmas possibly have brought to such a happy little lad that could have made him even happier?"

"Colors!" Teddy's face, now looking up at her from the floor, was alive with pleasure. "He brought colors!"

 _His eyes crinkle like Remus',_ Rose thought, catching her breath. _But the rest of him is Tonks._ The child's hair had gone multicolored in his excitement. "Show Tata, Teddy? Let's see!"

Teddy happily dragged her by the hand into the sitting room, Kingsley trailing behind them with the parcels. Once they were seated on the carpet before the towering Christmas tree, Teddy launched into a demonstration of his enchanted pastel set.  
"See, my finger," he placed his finger onto the emerald green pastel crayon, then traced it over the parchment that lay before the tree. A line of green, the same thickness as his finger, appeared.

"Oh my!" Rose cried, clapping her hands in a slight exaggeration of glee. "How does it work, Teddy?"

He looked at her incredulously. "Magic," he said, sounding as if he thought the question very naive indeed.

"Of course," she answered, exchanging a quick amused look with Kingsley. And then she was on her feet again, because Ginny and Harry had just walked into the sitting room.

"How are you, Rose?" Ginny asked, hugging her. "Ooh, I like your shawl."

"Thank you. I haven't had a chance to get it off," Rose laughed, hugging back. "Wonderful to see you. How's everyone at The Burrow?"

Ginny made a face. "Loud. There are even more of us, now. Did you know George was dating Angelina?"

"I'm very glad to hear it!" Rose said with genuine satisfaction. "I hope to see them at New Years." Then she stepped forward and put her arms around her nephew. "Harry James. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Rose," he answered, warmly. He shook hands with Kingsley when they had broken apart. "How do you do, Kingsley?"

Kingsley inclined his head. "I am very well, thank you. Congratulations on your first Christmas, together, Harry and Ginny."

"Except that we've spent every Christmas together since my fifth year!" Harry laughed.

"Except the one, when you were saving the world," Ginny put in.

"Except that one," he agreed.

The dinner was as delicious as the aromas had been promising. Rose's wine went over quite well, so much so that no one minded when Teddy not only pulled every cracker on his own, but insisted on choosing their paper crowns and placing them on the heads of all the guests. Harry, seated next to Rose with a vivid orange crown on his head, caught her eye.

"This reminds me of Godric's Hollow," he said.

Perhaps it was the wine, but Rose found her eyes had filled suddenly with tears. "Yes," she agreed, blinking. "Rather more spacious, but the same… feel. I quite agree."

"I, er, finally made use of your wedding gift," he said, looking down at his lap. "Thank you. That was… perfect. How do you always have the best gifts?"

He could not have said anything which would have given her more satisfaction, and he knew it. "Oh, I'm so glad. Harry," she said, then, her eyes lighting up with a new thought. "Was that the memory where I told you that I would have a very fine house one day, and that you would come to visit me?"

"It was," he said. "Although I don't think I heard you say it the first time, seeing as I was _asleep,_ " he said, in mock accusation.

She laughed. "Supposing I make good on that promise now?"

Harry frowned in puzzlement. "You've had me to stay at your flat loads of times."

"But supposing," she went on, "the flat in London were to be exchanged, for a house in Paris?"

"Kingsley," Ginny said slowly. "Did you… get some sort of promotion?"

"Yes, from Minister of Magic, I have been promoted to Magical Potentate of all the world," he said. His tone was serious, but his eyes twinkled.

"And of course, for such a position one must live in Paris, since it is the greatest city in all the world," Rose said, nodding solemnly.

"What is going on, Rose?" Harry asked when they had finished laughing at that.

"Before I tell you," she said, looking at him seriously, "I want to make you a promise." Her eyes darted quickly to Andromeda and Teddy. "We will be able to be with you every Christmas, every birthday, and for as many other occasions as I can possibly manage. I'm not leaving _any_ of you."

Harry nodded, looking directly into her eyes, and she knew he understood what she was trying to say. "Go on, then," he pressed.

Rose cleared her throat. "Why don't I pour everyone some more wine?"

 **Finis.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


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